English Rose
by Geeres
Summary: FrUk based during the Second English Civil War. All Francis wanted to do was get away for a week or so from the drama of the 30 year war but escaping to a war torn England was probibly not the best holiday destination.
1. Ill Wishes

**Hey! I'm Joanne, pleased to meet you! *bows* I don't write fanfics... or at least I didn't think I did until I got bored one night and wrote this... then my mate Maerlyn got hold of it and started laughing telling me I needed to write more... so here's the first chapter of English Rose. Just so you know this is set during the Second English Civil War (as I only want it to take up part of this fic) and America is way to young to do anything... unless you like that stuff... but unfortunatly for those of you who do I really don't! So this is going to be a FrUk for now.**

**ENJOY!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Arthur clutched his head which threatened to spilt in two trying to repress the cry of pain. Coughs racked his body. His blood poured out of his mouth from some unknown injury.

How long was this going to go on for!

His vision swam making him clasp the table next to him tightly. His free hand reached for the telephone shaking violently. He hesitated.

Who the hell could he call?

Nobody cared that much and America was too young to be dealing with this.

He slumped against the wall.

Dammit. So much for splendid isolation.

He laughed resulting in another bout of bloodied coughing.

That bloody stupid parliament and that bloody stupid idiotic king. Not to mention that fucking excuse for a brother Scotland, and the two twits across the channel. Reflecting on it it was no surprise that he was all alone.

A knock came at the door startling the English man. He struggled to his feet heading for the bathroom.

"I'll be there in a second" he called instantly regretting raising his voice as it sent his head into painful spasms.

Looking at himself in the mirror above the sink he groaned inwardly. Blood was all over his chin. His green eyes were sunken into deep dark bags around his eyes. His skin looked clammy and his hair was probably the only thing which seemed to be its normal messy self. He splashed his face with cold water wiping the blood away as much as he could.

The knock became insistent. "I SAID I WOULD BE THERE IN A SECOND YOU WANKER!" he yelled and once again had to grab hold of the sink to save himself from collapsing.

Pull it together and answer the freaking door.

Painstakingly he made his way to the huge oak front door. Yet as he finally opened it he wished he hadn't.

"L'Angleterre~3" A second went by before England finally registered the blonde haired pervert wearing practically nothing but a pair of breeches, knee length leather boots and some linen pants. He made to slam the door but Francis grabbed it trying to force it open.

"Stop it you crazy bastard!"

"Oh come on l'Angleterre our royals are married we should be too"

"Pfft we were at war not 18 years ago you bloody fool go home!" England shouted slamming his body against the door just as France managed to drag his head around the door. With a yelp Francis was kicked out very painfully.

—†∅†∅†—

As he rubbed his almost bare backside he heard the stamping of feet cut of suddenly by a large thumping sound.

He stood up glaring at the door which had gotten eerily quiet. Normally Arthur would still be loudly cursing behind it but there was... nothing.

"That hurt mon petite cher!" Francis yelled using the high bulky heel of his boots to kick the door in. The door slammed against the far wall at the opposite end of the corridor shattering.

Nothing.

No screaming Arthur, no curses, no...something was wrong.

"Arthur?" Francis turned around quickly searching for any sign of the lost nation. "Now is not the time to be playing hide and go seek England. You're scaring big brother" He said nervously slowly inching towards the kitchen that he had been banned from for trying to 'sabotage' Arthur's scones. Of course he had only been trying to make them edible but England never saw it that way.

A groan like the living dead came from behind France who jumped out of his skin. He span elegantly around his eyes wide as they finally caught sight of a pale hand protruding from the staircase.

"L'Angleterre! Ce qui ne va pas? êtes-vous malade? Ce qui est arrivé l'Angleterre?" He ran to Arthur's side. "Have you been eating your scones again?"

Arthur groaned but didn't make a sound as more blood gurgled out of his mouth. Placing a hand to the English gentleman's forehead he felt the fever burning intensely.

"Sacre bleur! Is the war really that bad L'Angleterre? Why didn't you tell me!"

Another groan. He swept his arms under the sick nation lifting him up. "Let's get you to bed"

Normally that line would of been layered with meaning and would end with a very bruised nation of France...or Prussia... or even Spain. They should of learnt by now their pick-up lines caused more injury but now was not one of those times.

England made no move to beat up the Frenchman making Francis' worries increase ten-fold. He started to carry Arthur up to the bedroom at the top of the house praying that the stupid war would end. The selfish citizens of Arthur were going to freaking kill him.

As this thought ran through his mind he heard a soft murmur come from the bundle in his arms.

"Pardon Monsieur?" He asked leaning in closer to hear England's raspy yet threatening voice.

"Put me the hell down you French prat or I'll curse you,"

"Now now L'Angleterre stop your fussing. I saved you non? A prince never leaves his princess," he laughed as convincingly as he could still deeply worried. He needn't of been as England found the energy to raise two fingers at him. France fumed silently but expect it.

It was England after all.

—†∅†∅†—

After what seemed like a million stairs they reached Arthur's room. It was small compared to the Frenchman's but cosy. There was a fireplace on the wall opposite a messed and blood stained double bed.

Francis winced. Had it really been getting that bad? The bed didn't look slept in instead it seemed more like someone had be kept awake and tortured. Like something Spain would have done in his inquisitor days.

"Just put me down and leave frog." Arthur grumbled using up the last of his energy to glare. In the past it would of sent everyone running for the hills but right now it was as weak as a fluffy bunny dressed in a cloak... France instead sent a concerned look at the bed then to Arthur making the Englishman feel guilty.

"Where do you keep your fresh bed sheets?" He asked his accent thick as he got more and more concerned. Arthur had heard it before when France was looking after Canada but never thought it would be directed to him after the whole burning Francis' lover in a fit of jealousy.

R.I.P. Joan.

That was a world away and yet all so close when Francis wore that face and spoke like that. He grunted towards a cupboard in a corner of the room.

"They'll only get ruined as well. There's no point in ruining more then one sheet you know."

"But you'll grow even sicker if you stay in that filth. Et that won't help the war end now non?"

England grumbled giving up which made France laugh a bit more naturally. He placed the fevered man on the small plush red armchair in the alcove.

"Stay there and get comfortable. Big brother will look after you."

England groaned even louder burying his head in his hands yet all France did was laugh his laugh finally feeling a bit more relaxed. If that was at all possible. He turned and striding to the other side went to bend down to get the sheet out of the lowest draw. Arthur shouted loudly.

"DO NOT EVEN THINK OF BENDING DOWN WHEN YOU ARE WEARING THAT YOU DIRTY FRENCHMAN!"

It was at this point France remembered he was half dressed. There was a reason out of the realms of the perverted ways of his mind to explain his...condition, but he doubted England would want to hear it. Yet this thought only had a second to be registered before a new thought replaced it.

~So he had been staring at my ass when I turned round non? Well can't blame him.~

Its hard to tell when stood next to Spain but France had a damn fine ass too.

It was only when he caught England's disturbed face that he realised he had subconsciously started rubbing his own backside.

"Quoi? Aren't I allowed to admire mon derrière?"

"Oh dear god please save me" Arthur managed before breaking out into another bout of coughing.

Francis rushed over trying to stop England from moving and causing more injuries. "Your people are imbecile. Don't move an inch I'll go put on some clothes already"

Yet another thing he believed he would never say.

He made sure that Arthur was not going to move from the chair and hurried into the adjacent bathroom with walk in wardrobe.

He didn't bother with cleaning Arthur's blood of him or the dirt from falling on the ground earlier. Instead he stripped in record time (practise makes perfect) and started to rummage through Arthur's clothes for anything that would romotely fit him.

—†∅†∅†—

Back outside and Arthur was growing relentless. It was just his luck that HE had had to show up. He knew he owed the Frenchman right now but this was an invasion...OF PRIVACY! Not that Francis would see that.

Arthur buried his face in his hands. He had been living this nightmare for about 13 years it couldn't go on for much longer right? He didn't even care if the royalists of the parliamentarians won. All he wanted was for all this darn pain to go away.

"Yoohoo England~" Arthur's thoughts were cut short as he looked up to see that Francis had managed to find a heavy tunic to wear. He had not been so lucky in the bottoms department. They were way too short, showing off an inappropriate amount of leg. Arthur blushed.

"You can't wear that!"

But Francis didn't care. "And why not my beloved L'Angleterre?"

"One, you set a terrible example for my citizens. And two. Its bloody indecent!"

"Your citizens are already terrible examples of everything. Et plus I have the best nose for fashion. I bet super short bottoms will come in soon"

Arthur scoffed. "Sure in a few hundred years or so" He looked slightly green so France once again tried to read his temperature yet Arthur knocked his hand aside.

"I don't need your pity."

"You had better let me help you L'Angleterre seeing as right now I have both of your precious, cute princes in my care. If you don't let me nurse you back to health then I'll turn both your princes into irresponsible partying Frenchmen!"

"You wouldn't dare!" England scowled through his fever.

France winked knowingly. "You know I would so stop acting like un petite enfant"

***flash forwards* **

"Come on L'Angleterre party with me! It's my corination non?" Charles II shouted over the band and feasting patrons. England fumed.

"That bloody French bastard! We had a deal!"

***end flash forwards***

Francis always had a bad poker face so Arthur could tell he was genially serious. He shivered at the thought of young Charles being corrupted by the French. But at this rate there might never be a need for another monarch.

"Fine...do your worse" he said closing his eyes tight and gripping the arms of the chair.

Francis laughed. "You would think I was going to torture you."

"Isn't that what you usually do when you catch me when I'm ill?"

France shrugged. "I normally have something to gain there l'Angleterre. Now I am just here out of the goodness of my large heart over-flowing with love!" At this point he was smelling roses and blowing kisses.

"Pfft what are you compensating for?" France deflated significantly.

"I'm dressed now so there should be no problem with remaking your bed right?" France busied himself with stripping the bed (another thing he was well practised in- anything to do with stripping was his speciality). He finished putting the new bed together with a flourish leaving it partly open.

"Now for the final piece." He said turning to England.

"No freaking way I can walk to my bed without your help frog" Arthur complained pushing himself up.

"Fine mon ami let's see you try," he sat down on the edge of the bed, crossed his legs and waited expectantly.

England forced himself to stand on his own two feet. His whole body protested but he ignored it. He wouldn't let Francis see the amount of pain he was in. Especially when he was pulling that awfully smug face.

Francis watched Arthur as he struggled to even stay upright let alone managing to take a step forward. He was waiting for the nation to humble himself and ask for help. He may of been doing this out of the kindness in his heart but England's attitude was cutting his fuse short.

Arthur said nothing his weight quickly bringing his sick body forwards. Too be honest France found it was quite amusing.

"Come my slave!" Cried France trying to keep a straight face but ending up giggling.

"Bastard" England muttered.

His ears rang. His eye lids were heavy. Not to mention that pounding headache coming back. He gritted his teeth. Just take another step forward. Just one more. He forced the leg to move. It felt like lead as he moved it, rather like his pirate days, but as soon as his weight was put on it it changed to the consistency of jelly.

God dammit. He thought desperately as he fell forwards.

France yelp as England fell and not just because he was shocked but because Arthur fell on top of him.

The Englishman's dead weight pinned him to the bed.

"L'Angleterre! Please wake up! Je suis coincé! L'Angleterre!" France whined.

Normally he would just push the unconscious country off him but that was defiantly not an option now.

"If you do not get off me L'Angleterre so help me I'll have to invade your vital regions."

Still no reaction. France sighed and assessed what was going on. He was trapped under a very heavy dead weight which was England extremely ill from the stupid civil war that had broken out... business as usual then!

He used what little movement he had to make sure England could still breath before settling down to the inevitable. He had no way to contact anybody and it would probably be an age before anyone checked on this old crone or even for England to regain consciousness. And if anyone did come in they would think the worse. Seriously what had he done to make all the countries think that he was so perverted? So he had messed around with Italy a bit... both of them and had several over past grievances but come on! That sort of stuff shouldn't be held against a nation.

He stared at the ceiling concentrating on the rapid heartbeat of the nation on top of him.

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><p><strong>So hope you liked it! Please review! I may not have any idea where this is going but it's going somewhere I promise you. Anyway thank you for taking the time out to read it.<strong>

**Much love.**

**Joanne xx**


	2. Table Dispute

**Chapter 2**

**Note: France has corrupted my mind! Its gotten so dirty lately -_- Thank you for the corrections! Especially about the telephone (Thanks MellowYellow). That makes me so embarrassed seeing as I caught myself when I almost gave France a mobile but that first one totally slipped my mind! So let's change it to messenger... and I'm not talking MSN. Also thank you to those who reviewed it. And a massive thank you to Croc'Sushi For correcting my French... seriously can I employ you? Haha. On with the chapter!**

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><p>Arthur woke feeling the best he had in ages. Under him was something warm. He hugged it to him running his fingers through the fabric then through the silky hair.<p>

Wait a minute... HAIR?

He opened up his eyes to see a sleeping France underneath him. There were blood stains on Francis' shoulder were he had coughed up blood on him during the night. He looked really tired huge bags under his eyes and his breathing was ragged from the weight of the Englishman being on top of him but he looked so peaceful.

England cast his mind back to the day before hazily remembering the Frenchman arriving in a very skimpy outfit.

Except this wasn't like normal times when England would blank out and wake up next to France... or any other nation to be perfectly frank.

For one France was wearing clothes. For another nothing hurt. Lastly it looked like they had changed the sheets before getting on to the bed and that NEVER happened during drunk lusting periods.

Frustrated Arthur punched Francis with all his might to get him to wake. France wiggled slightly under the Englishman eyes still closed, his forehead wrinkled in annoyance.

"Not right now Russia. I don't want to do it now."

"Excuse me!" Arthur exclaimed his voice jerking Francis out of his slumber.

"Angleterre! You're awake! How are you feeling?" He raised a hand and rested it on England's head before smiling and taking his wrist to get his heart beat.

"I'm fine you nitwit get off."

France smirked. "Shouldn't I be saying that?"

England blushed. "What are you implying sir!"

"That although I do love it when you straddle me at full health your unconscious state is rather heavy and I have lost sensation from the waist down" England gave him glares much more effective then the ones the night before, yet he still got off.

Francis sat up and massaged his legs to get back feeling. "I will be calling in this payment soon you know" he said smiling.

England made a 'che' sound, gave him the finger and moved towards the bathroom.

—†∅†∅†—

Late morning light shone into the room and on to the mirror above the 'sink'. blood was once again caked to his face. He sat down with a bowl of water and washed himself away of the fever and blood.

He grabbed himself a fresh set of clothes and for the first time in years thought he looked reasonable. As he left the bathroom he saw that France was no longer there. He span around half expecting France to be standing behind him. But no. He was nowhere to been seen.

This made the fact that France hadn't barged into him when washing a bit more plausible.

England had been wondering about the lack of yelling during this period.

Against his own mind telling him not too, his stomach flipped. What if something had happened and he didn't hear the Frenchman's cries for help. Surely if there had been a fight of some sort France would have been able to defend himself.

England started to jump down the stairs 3 at a time trying to repress the panic. But halfway through the house the panic was replaced with anger.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID I TELL YOU ABOUT MY KITCHEN!"

He stomped down the remaining stairs following the faint aroma of chicken cooking.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

He rounded the doorway and found the blonde headed man standing at the griddle. France's hair was tied back by a piece of leather yet wisps still fell out. HE turned round also looking refreshed yet still in the clothes he had been stuck in for the whole night.

"Ah Angleterre! I found your supply of chicken running around. Not the best ingredient but I made what I could."

"You bloody idiot! Those were my supplies in case I come under siege!"

"Quels deux poulets?" {what two chickens?}

"Shut up! Two is better than nothing which I don't have now!"

"Oh stop being such a git and just serve up the junk you've cooked even your disgusting food will do I'm that hungry,"

"Ane~.{ass} Fine don't complain when you eat the best chicken in your life," France sighed putting the grilled chicken onto the plate in front of England who poked it with a fork.

"After your frog legs I'm cautious of anything of yours,"

"Considering I raised you mon poupée {my doll}your taste in food is terrible!"

"Your food is terrible."

"très mature" {very mature}

"Well you shouldn't even be in my country!"

"Et vous sentez comme boeuf et le fromage." _{You smell like beef and cheese}_

"Don't talk French to me you bastard. All I understood there was cheese!"

"Vous avez le cervau d'un sandwich au fromage." _{You have the brain of a cheese __sandwich}_

"Again with the cheese and the French?"

"Oui, bâtard anglais" {yes, English bastard}

"... I hate you,"

"Je sais" {I know}

Silence reined between the two of them as they tucked in to what was left of Doris and Day-the chickens (R.I.P.). Although England would never admit it, it was the best chicken he had had in a while. Although that could have been because he hadn't had a decent meal in what felt like forever.

His stomach could hardly take it before.

France watched as England had taken the first mouthful. His eyes had twinkled for a second almost like they were filling with tears before he caught a grip of himself.

Had he really liked it that much?

A sense of pride filled France. He knew that he would never hear a word of praise for his cooking but he could still see when his food was liked at the least.

He ate his piece of chicken trying to resist the smirk that threatened to crawl across his face and ruin his private moment. Arthur was sure to get mad if he saw it. And France didn't want him straining himself. Much less if it led to him losing feeling in his legs... but then again.

"You're thinking of something disturbing aren't you." Arthur said flatly, exasperated even.

The Frenchman laughed swishing the blonde hair away from his face. "You know me too well cheri."

"You dirty -"

"Now now Angleterre don't go ruining our record of not swearing at each other. It's been about 10 minutes."

"Don't tell me not to bloody swear you prick!"

"Oh and we were doing so well after my previous out burst."

"What the hell are you doing here anyway?"

"You are a useless host Angleterre,"

"And you're an awful cook"

"That's a lie and don't get started on that again" France said restraining the anger by remembering England's face not long ago.

"I won't start if you answer the question!"

At this point England stood up, smashing his palm on the table, yelling over his scraped clean plate. France only raised an eyebrow then grabbed a napkin and dabbed at his mouth. The silence once again stretched out over a few seconds.

England could feel his restrain slipping. "...Francis" he threatened.

"Patience Angleterre. Its not good to talk war games just after eating."

"IT WON'T BE GOOD FOR YOU IF YOU DON'T START TALKING NOW!"

"Vous impies démon. {You unholy demon} Fine. I wanted out."

England was taken aback. This wasn't what he had expected. To be perfectly honest he thought he would be hearing some teasing words of wanting to see England reduced to nothing.

"Pardon?"

"The war. 30 years and I'm getting tired. Its all my bosses talk about. War here, war there. Surrounded. I'm allied with Suède! He's scary Angleterre! That glare is worse than yours!"

Arthur glared respectively but Francis ignored it too caught up in his own drama.

"Espagne {Spain} has stopped talking to me, which I guess is to be expected mais I think he's up to something. Le bâtard sournois. {The sneaky bastard}. Not to mention the fighting with Holy Rome. I feel bad because he can only just bite my knee caps and Italie cries when he sees us fighting. I needed to get out of Europe and war and thought I would escape here. But then when I was getting dressed to come here Spain stormed in with an axe and I had to run."

"Let me get my head round this you came to a country with in civil war to get away from war..."

A look of realisation crossed Francis' face.

"You barmy berk"

"What~? Take it is a compliment Angleterre you're handling it so well that I had forgotten you were in the middle of a war until I saw you collapsed!"

"Go home frog! I can't be dragged into a war right now! I'll be destroyed!"

"Oh but Angleterre I'm not here as a nation! Please don't kick me back there. All this questing for expansion is making my head hurt! Let me stay with you for a little while s'il vous plaît." If he didn't have so much pride he would be on his knees.

Arthur felt his angry resolve ebbing away. Damn Francis and his begging. It amused the Brit to no end so he simply couldn't stay angry at him.

"Well maybe I can deal with you for a week or two..."

France jumped to his feet going to hug England.

"Anglete-"

England smashed a palm in his face.

"But we need to set down a few rules. No climbing into my bed at night. No spying on me washing or anything like that. And NO COOKING IN MY KITCHEN!"

"ahhh but Angleterre! You are being no fun!" he said nursing his bleeding nose.

"I'm telling you France, I may be ill but I will kick you so hard you think the 100 years war was me giving you a slight shove." The serious look on Arthur's face made Francis laugh.

"Okay Arthur I won't invade you or cook you food as long as you, don't complain as much when I help out, you learn a few French dishes and for one hour a day, at least, we do something of my choosing. Fair non?" he finished after counting out his own rules on his fingers.

France smiled broadly as England thought this over. "Deal. But if you break any of those terms I get to punish you."

A gleam shone in Francis' eye.

"Not that sort of punishment you perverted bastard!" France pouted dramatically.

"Oh but Angleterre if you get to punish me I get to punish you non? Et I have no such reserves." He picked up the two plates and sashayed his way out of the room.

As soon as he was gone England hid his pounding head in his hands.

Just what exactly had he let himself in for?

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><p><strong>hehe~ I hope you enjoyed it. I certainly have had fun writing it. Maerlyn has been writing a fanfic too and it's taken over both of our lifes we keep texting each other and getting opinions and ideas off each other so much love going her way! :D<strong>

**Anyway.. I think France has corrupted my mind. Literally I have become more dirty minded in the past week then I have EVER been in my whole entire life. FRANCE IS CONTAGIOUS!**

**Also what do you think about the whole having the translation next to my terrible french? Or should I just put it to the end? (I kind of forgot to put translations in my last chapter ^^" sorry) **

**Please Review and I'll see if I can sort out another chapter quickly.**

**Love you**

**Joanne xxx**


	3. The Library Chamber

**Bonjour bonjour bonjour! Thank you guys so much for the story favourites and alerts! It makes me happy to see them ^_^ and so I'm going to say a thank you to *clears throat* **

**shinigami97**

**ApathyReignssupreme**

**Anactolica (my lovely Maerlyn!)**

**Olen jedi ikuisesti**

**mystmoon92**

**Croc'Sushi**

**animerockchic**

**Maiya123 (YAY my Maiya 3)**

**So thank you all. Sorry if I've missed a few having to check through my emails to get all the names ^w^**

**Also I'm going to be writting the translations at the end now. And I am accepting corrections! Because I need corrections O.o badly.**

**Anyways enjoy ^_^**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

France sat topless at the back porch washing the tunic free of blood. He had washed the plates up a while ago and now they sat next to him among the feathers of the consumed poultry.

From what he could remember from the last time he fought Arthur was that his blood was a bugger (to use the English turn of phrase)to get out.

Damn why had the idiot had to cough up blood all through the night. Not only was he now having to sit out in the freezing cold of an English July but he had hardly got a wink of sleep before that bastard had woken him up.

He attacked the stain with new energy. All his frustrated anger focused on the right shoulder. He shouldn't be doing that.

That was another point. Where had all of England's maids ans servants gotten to?

France had been thinking that the house was oddly quiet. The kitchen used to be full of people preparing all sorts of English food, but by the looks of the charred remains in the pots Francis had found that morning England had been cooking for himself for some time.

And the desks and sides which had all previously sparkled pristinely were becoming dusty.

He had meant to bring it up over breakfast but during all the arguing and silent treatment there never seemed to be a good time. It hadn't been all that bad though. France was relishing the idea of punishing England for something.

Ohohoho, it was entertaining just imagining the things he could do.

England watched from the house as France laughed quietly to himself. His eyes narrowed. He shouldn't of agreed to those terms so easily. He wasn't going to make it easy for the French bastard. Not easy at all.

He swung the green cloak on, which matched his eyes perfectly, where it rested comfortably on his shoulders. Suppressing a cough, he tied the cord tight around his neck and pulled the hood up high over his messy blonde hair.

There was no use in trying to hide what he was about to do. It would only make the Frenchmen much more suspicious and question his actions.

He walked purposefully out the back door, praying to God that Francis was too preoccupied to say anything.

"Angleterre what are you doing?"

Oh come on God!

Arthur turned around and glowered at the nation. He tried to stop his eyes wondering over the scars on the French man's muscular yet slightly hairy chest. His abs were clearly defined and his arms, even though they looked slender Arthur knew they are extremely strong as well. He tore his eyes away staring off to the side.

"I need to go and do some business with the merchants alright? They've let their apprentice boys run wild again and everyone in London are scared to go out at night"

France studied the younger nation then shrugged. He knew that he was lying. It was all there in his emerald green eyes. They were filled with irritation, arrogance and something France hadn't seen in his eyes for many years. In fact he hadn't seen it for so long he found it hard to place.

Well that was going to bug him all day.

"But Angleterre you aren't well in the slightest. You shouldn't be going on business like that. Or at least certainly not alone. Let me borrow a different tunic and I'll join you~"

"NO!" Arthur cut across him quickly then bit his tongue. "I mean, er, my merchants don't take kindly to strangers. Especially French strangers. If you come I won't even get to begin my lecture, so it's best I go alone."

Francis narrowed him eyes sceptically but let it slide. Something told him that this was matters best left to discuss after England was drunk. Guess what they were going to be doing in today's Happy Francis Hour!

England blessed his lucky stars that the blonde idiot hadn't pressed the subject. Had he gotten away with it? Would he keep managing to slip away each morning? Only time would tell he guessed just happy for the reprieve. Maybe Francis would be dim enough to actually believe him. He doubted it... but it was possible.

France watched as England disappeared into the large forest area at the bottom of the garden. The merchants lived in there? Weren't they afraid of wolves? By the sounds of it they were well protected by their 'apprentice boys'.

He chortled quietly to himself. Obviously this was matters if le coeur. England must have a pretty young maiden hidden in the trees. So much for being a gentleman.

He laughed a bit more loudly feeling much better then he had earlier. The image of England running off to be with a human girl in the early hours of the morning in a forest no less was just so like the hypocrite. If it had been him England would of ripped him a new one.

Oh well, he thought, as long as England is out let's explore.

—†∅†∅†—

An hour later France had searched the most of the first 2 floors. This place was freaking massive. He had found nothing even remotely interesting yet England had to have a secret cove or room somewhere. He had had humans working for him at one point.

He must have hidden things away. Being a nation was a rather important secret. He stopped and thought for a second.

If he was England... a little voice answered.

The library.

A huge smile crept over his face as he raced up the stairs nd down the corridor. He however lost this smirk when he saw the room. Unlike most of the house this room was massive and filled to bursting point with books.

How was he meant to check them all before England came home?

Think like England. What book of his did he know that none of the other nations would want to read?

"Cooking." France said aloud to himself turning towards the cooking bookcase. It was all in alphabetical order.

France ran a long finger over their spines.

Ancient Cooking for Idiots

Barricade Meals: food for every siege

Delicious Recipes for Chickens

Delicious Recipes for Frogs

There France paused and pulled out said book interested. On the cover was a print of him being cooked in a big pot.

Well... wow.

he was speechless for a while as he stared at his own face screaming in agony.

"Branleur."

He was tempted to burn the vulgar thing but realised Arthur would catch on to him then. He placed it back shaking a bit with anger and turned his attention to other books.

The morceau de merde must of put it there on purpose. He was getting close.

The Gentleman's Cooking Experience

Kill a Mockingbird and Other Bird Recipes

Single Meals for Single Men.

France was oh so inclined to change the single to simple. He would of done so if the next book wasn't so darn obvious.

Treasures of the English Kitchen

It had to be a trap. But hey Arthur was quite dim at times.

He gave the book a tug but it didn't move. A sinister smile made its way to his lips. What would he find? Porn? England's diary? His fetish accessories?

"Ohohoho, check and mate Angleterre." He said pulling lightly on the top of the book.

It came forwards setting gears rolling. France waited in anticipation as he heard the movement. A second later it stopped and the floor gave way beneath the Frenchmen. Who screamed all the way down.

†∅†∅†

When England returned rosy cheeked he knew something had happened.

"Francis?" He called seeing the tunic and bucket of water left unmanned. He slipped the hood off and began untying the red string as he moved into the kitchen. "Francis what have you done?" Then he saw it.

A small piece of ribbon on the floor that would have been over looked if he hadn't been looking for it.

"So, he fell for that trap then?" He mused trying not to smile. Pfft the French were idiots.

This was going to be so much fun. He tried his hardest not to skip merrily over to the stove but failed miserably.

He pushed a old grey stone in and the stone stove moved away. He grabbed a torch and lit it. He followed the passage giggling every now and then. As he reached the end of it however his giggles turned out to down right laughter.

France was upside down tangled in the chains which had broken his fall from the floor above. All the soot which accumulated from the fire had stuck to him making him look more like a giant tangled spider then the normal Frenchman.

"ANGLETERRE! You came to save me I've been here for hours!" Francis called out happily.

Arthur just laughed a new. "Why would I safe you you bastard you were going through my stuff weren't you?"

France's face was priceless. "Non non! You have it all wrong Angleterre! I was only going to cook you something you would enjoy~" He prayed England would fall for it.

Like that was ever going to happen.

England raised an eyebrow still smirking. "So you were going to break one of my terms then?" Francis' eyes widen as he realised what he had implied.

"NON! Arthur! That's not what I meant," England's eyes glinted evilly.

"Punishment is due I think," France was terrified. Pirate England seemed to be back in full swing. There was only one way out of this.

"I guess there is no choice," he said reaching up and throwing off the trousers extravagantly. "PUNISH ME AS YOU WILL"

Arthur turned the brightest shade of red. "NOT LIKE THAT YOU BLOODY PERV!"

"ohohohoho~ sure it's not Angleterre. I know your fetishes. Chains, suits, Frenchmen," He winked at the Englishman whose fury was silently building up. "You should accept it Angleterre it's not healthy to repress the feelings for moi. Many have tried. All have failed,"

England didn't reply instead grabbing a huge axe that was propped against the wall. "Oh I forgot about that fetish. Got that from your brother non?"

A sinisiter shadow passed over England's face. "Ah ah ah ANGLETERRE don't! NOOOOOOO!"

"I'M A GENTLEMAN YOU BLOODY IDIOT. I AM NOT YOU!" England yelled and chucked the axe against the wall.

It hit the hook that kept the chains up and France collapsed the the floor buried by the heavy rusty metal hoops.

He pushed them off of himself rubbing his head. "Ah that's hurt mon Angleterre," yet when he looked up and saw the murderous stare looking back at him he froze.

"Angleterre?..." Arthur grabbed his ear tightly between his two sharpest finger nails and pulled. Francis yelped.

"ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow Angleterre!"

"SHUT UP AND ACCEPT YOUR COMING PUNISHMENT FROG!"

"I can take anything you throw at me!"

"Even my scones?"

"Nooo England I was only joking. Please Angleterre! I don't think I'll survive this time!"

Arthur couldn't make up his mind whether to laugh or swear at Francis as he pulled him to the kitchen and slammed him down in a sturdy wooden chair. In his other hand he had been dragging along some of the chains which he expertly restrained Francis with

. "No matter what you do Angleterre a crumb of that poison shall never pass my luscious lips!"

"Be a man and take your punishment."

"But I have done nothing wrong. Je ne suis pas coupable!"

"All I got there frog was guilty." England lied clearly enjoying this whole thing to the maximum. He mixed the ingredients quickly and shoved him in the wood stove. "You have 20 minutes to talk. Then I pull out the torture."

"I WILL NOT CRACK! JE SUIS FRANCAIS!"

"Pfft. That just means you'll spill your guts in under 10 minutes. Now talk."

"Never!"

"O I think I can see the scones are browning." France turned green.

"Fine I'll talk!"

"Brilliant. Now tell me what did you really come here for?"

"I already told you the reason mon cher."

"L.I.A.R." England said playing with a fork.

"Non c'est vrai! I promise!"

"What were you looking for then?"

"I also told you that earlier Angleterre. A good cook book et your fetish stock of-ow" the fork had hit his head with incredible power.

"I am going to shove those scones down your throat!" France gulped. He had to change the subject.

"I don't see why you are so grumpy Angleterre didn't your little maiden take care of your needs in the forest?" So the wrong this to say.

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING! I AM AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN! I HARDLY GO COFORTING IN BUSHES!"

"Oh so defensive Angleterre did she reject your advances tod-" he didn't get to finish as a rather large and hot scone was shoved, as promised, down his throat.

"SWALLOW THAT YOU BASTARD!" The Brit yelled holding Francis' nose to force him to swallow. His gag reflex kicked in but England shoved in another scone.

It wasn't until all the scones had gone and England's temper had cooled that he realised that the Frenchman had long be unconscious.

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><p><strong>Hehe hope you liked it.<strong>

**DEATH BY SCONES! ;)**

**please review :3 I would love you forever! especially if you tell me where I can improve. I want to make this as good as I can. **

**TRANSLATIONS**

**Branleur** wanker

**Angleterre** England

** le coeur ** the heart

**Morceau de merde** Piece of shit

** non** no

** moi ** me

**Je ne suis pas coupable**! I am not guilty!

** Je suis Francais ** I am french

**c'est vrai! ** It's true!


	4. A Nation's Sorrow

_**Hey my lovilies! Joanne is very tired today and when she's tired she talks in third person so bear with her please. anyways! I want to say a big thank you to those who give me reviews :) (yay back to nromal normal for a while) so thank you guys!**_

_**Summary?:**_Poor Poor POOR France... that is all

**Enjoy the chapter! **

**(Oh yeah! been meaning to put a disclaimer in for a while and kept forgetting. I do not own the characters or Hetalia but this idea was something I came up with by myself to help me revise my history and pass away some very bored time~. Also I am sorry for the potty mouth these two have... Mainly England... I can't help it he just swears! stupid boy -_-)**

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><p>Francis woke up with a pounding head ache and a throat that felt like sandpaper. His first reaction was panic. What if something was happening to his country? Yet after a few seconds he calmed down enough to figure out the true reason.<p>

That bâtard tried to kill me with scones!

He jumped to his feet in an angry state. He was charging to the door when the next thought hit him.

When did I get in here?

He turned around and surveyed the area. He had been asleep on a four poster bed, much more elegant then England's. It had white silk drapes for privacy but right now they were tied meretriciously to each of the posts.

Who was Arthur trying to impress?

If France hadn't known from previous experience he would of said England was compensating for something.

There were roses of a faint pink on a mahogany bedside table. They filled the room with a sickly sweet perfume. France didn't mind. It made everything seem to...clean. Not that he was dirty.

Wait a second.

He looked down at his hands. Back to their peachy colour. Rubbing his face with extra vigour he brought his hands to his eyes again. He was clean. How had that hap-

oh. England had bathed him when he was unconscious huh? Had he cleaned everywhere? The dirty English pervert. He had influenced him well.

He resisted the urge to laugh out loud feeling the anger drip away. England's pride would be bruised after having to bath him. Punishment enough without France throwing oil on the smouldering fire. Although... his train of thought was interrupted by a string of loud curses.

"Angleterre~, what have you managed to do this time?" He called cheerily skipping down the stairs a few at a time in a playful manner. He found the Englishman swearing without stopping for breath occasionally kicking something on the floor. "Angleterre? What has gotten your knickers in such a twist heh?"

Arthur span round glaring. "Your country can only ever produce crap!" He yelled storming off.

France stood confused as the angry Englishman purposefully bashed into him as he went past.

Mon Dieu what was going on!

He walked forwards turning over the scraps of wood on the floor. Was Angleterre trying.. to make a boat?

He didn't rest on it for long as his stomach growled loudly. "Artie, what's for eating. My tummy is sounding like a certain grumpy nation you know all so well,"

"Don't patronise me if you want food you idiot!" Arthur yelled from the kitchen. The sound of a pan hitting the wall vibrated through the whole house. "Plus you just had a whole batch of scones you bloody ba-stard!"

Had England's voice just cracked? Was he...crying?

"Angleterre?" France tried again softer. He walked back into the house and stood beside the kitchen door not looking in. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine you... you bloody fro- BUGGER" He really was crying.

An uncomfortable aura drowned the Frenchman. He knew England wasn't likely to fall and cry into his arms or even appreciate his presence, but he couldn't just leave him there... "Look England I..."

"Don't even think of coming in here." England threatened.

"England listen to me." He turned into the doorway. England avoided his eyes, trying to hide the sparkling trail of tears down his cheeks.

"No. I don't want to listen to you. Get the hell out of my god dammed kitchen!"

"Arthur!" France grabbed hold of his arms holding him in place firmly.

That caught the short nation's attention. Francis rarely used that name. Only ever variations or that stupid 'Angleterre' crap. He raised his green eyes praying that there were no tears still in them and glared into the blue eyes above him. "Let me go."

"If this is about the boat Arthur then that's nothing! You shouldn't get so worked up over that! We can work on it together. It can be our project for the week or two I'm here." England mumbled under his breath. "pardon moi. I couldn't hear you."

"I said this isn't about the bloody boat!" England forced out harshly pushing France away. "You don't know anything! My country if tearing itself apart. They are tearing me apart France! I can feel it! And all you do is think of that bloody boat while my people are weeping because their husbands, brothers and dads aren't coming home. What's worse is that every single bloody one of them is scared that someone they know is going to die. Even if that person is the enemy. Yet they don't stop. They just keep on BLOODY FIGHTING!"

He had done it now. There was no way he could hold back the tears as the sorrows of his nation overcame him.

France had no clue of what to do. He had never seen England, who had conquered half the world and was the most feared pirate in all of history, ever cry like this in front of him. He stood there dumbly staring his hands still holding the shorter nations arms.

There had to be something he could do. He couldn't exactly help stop the war, his boss would never allow it not to mention he had his own fights to fight, but... "Angleterre. Please, calm down. I get it I swear."

"NO YOU DON'T! You bloody well don't, so don't lie to me!"

"Look I may not know about civil wars and what that feels like but I have been alive longer then you mon ami and I have seen many more things then you in your isolation," That shut up England who stared down at his feet. "Look Angleterre, I want to help but I can't as a nation. You know that right?"

"I DO NOT NEED YOUR HELP!"

"Non, but you need someone here to help you. Where are your servants?"

"I kicked them all out. They were starting to fight among themselves. Started not to trust me because I couldn't choose a side. Then some of the smarter ones, like Lottie, started to notice I was becoming increasingly ill after each of the fights."

"Attendre. Your Lottie? The one you always talked about?"

"...She died last week in a crossfire,"

"Oh mon ange, je suis des-"

"Don't even finish that. I don't need your pity. It's not your fault." England said pushing against France's chest. But France held him tight.

"Of course it's not my fault, but it's not yours either Arthur." The look on Arthur's face told Francis he had hit bang on the issue. He was blaming himself for this. "oh you imbécile!" He said and pulled Arthur into a tight hug.

"France! Get off me!" England yelled but his voice was smothered out by France's top as a large hand was placed on the back of his head. France bent his face down and kissed the top of the messy hair, breathing in the smell of the woods and tea. "You don't need to worry any more Angleterre. I'm here."

Arthur was going mad. He couldn't breathe and France was freaking touching him! What happened to his personal space! But his arms were trapped between them . He was utterly stuck while Francis pawned over his hair. GAH! He needed oxygen and fast. He was going to faint and that would not be at all good in his current state.

"Lret owf lit. Ai cournt erve. Rance!" [get off git. I can't breathe. France!] But France couldn't hear him over his own shhing noises mistaking the English noises was his crying.

The complete and utter idiot.

There was only one way to get out of this, England thought woozily. He would never hear the end of it but-

He bit Francis as hard as he could. It just happened to be in a very sensitive chest area of, well... needless to say it certainly caught France's attention.

"FILS DE PUTE! ANGELTERRE? What are you doing?" He asked pushing the nation away. His nipple was throbbed painfully where England had sunk his teeth in deeply.

England was glaring at him as he took in deep breaths. "WERE YOU TRYING TO FUCKING KILL ME?" He yelled hands balled into fists.

"Que voulez-vous d-?" England punched him in the jaw.

"Never touch me again!"

"Mais Angleterre you needed a hug!"

"I did not need a frikkin' hug from you!"

"Angleterre..."

"Stupid Frenchman thinking stupid thoughts. Perverted thoughts. Should be frikkin' shot, frikkin bastard,"

France stopped even trying to deny the claims watching the flushed face in front of him. He looked so cute when he was flustered. And he was only just flustered. If he was properly mad France would have been on the floor by now.

He smiled happily.

England didn't seem as stressed and it made France feel all the better. Like a weight on him since he saw England crying was gone.

"Je suis désolé Angleterre. I won't go near you... for now." He said cheerfully. His smile made England extremely uncomfortable.

"But, we must have some France Fun Time in compensation,"

"COMPENSATION? You almost suffocated me! Why are you getting the compensation?"

"You bit me hard, and if you don't want me biting you back twice as hard in a twice as sensitive area then you will agree non?" Now England really had an excuse to be uncomfortable.

"Bloody French perv, fine. What do you have planned?"

"How about a little gambling?"

"Betting what exactly?"

"A piece of clothing et a dare shall we say."

"CLOTHING? YOU WANT TO PLAY STRIP POKER?"

"non non non Angleterre you have it all wrong. I don't want to play poker,"

"What then?" Arthur asked cautiously.

"I want to play a new game a very young boy has taught me, practically nobody knows it yet" England raised one of his bushy eyebrows at the mention of a stripping game and a young boy being in the same conversation.

"I'm giving you 5 seconds to explain yourself Francis and then I may beat you senseless."

"How about a game of 'Strip and Dare Alouette' Angleterre?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>I know strange place to cut it but bear with me I'm going to have a bit of fun with this little game of France basically trying to get England to strip. wahahahaha~! So perverted minded -_- someone SAVE MY MIND!<strong>_

_**I hoped you liked it. Reviews would be appreicated but hell you don't need too~ **_

_**Man I know as soon as I finish the next chapter that I'm going to be so impaticent to get them to *hand covers mouth* Damn my ability not to be able to keep secrets. **_

_**TRANSLATIONS**_

_**bâtard ** bastard_

_**Angleterre **England_

_**Mon Dieu **My God_

_**Attendre **Wait_

_**Oh mon ange, je suis des- **Oh my angel, I'm sor-(sorry)_

_**imbécile **Idiot_

_**FILS DE PUTE**Son of a Bitch_

_**Que voulez-vous d- **What do you m- (mean)_

_**Je suis désolé **I am sorry_

_**ah I hate writting out the translations hahaha~ better feel happy they are a pain in the backside for me hehe **_

_**Much Love**_

_**Joanne xxx**_


	5. Gambling Sweetness

**Bonjour just a short note to say sorry it took me so long. I wrote most of it last night when I was in a soppy mood. (wasted all my smut on a RP in the Giving In group hehe) So if this seems a bit disjointed sorry! **

**Have fun :3**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5 <strong>

How did he end up in this situation?

"Your deal Angleterre," the Frenchman sang happily pushing the deck of cards towards the half naked nation.

England was sat there in only his socks and boxers wanting nothing more then to throw the 48 cards in Francis' smug face.

Why the hell did he keep losing?

So far Francis had won every hand and had demanded England to strip a piece of clothing each time. He hadn't even mentioned anything about a bet yet, and that didn't look like it would change soon. England REALLY need to win.

The rules of the game had been simple.

~You used all the cards minus the tens

~You are dealt 9 cards and you had to win a trick by placing a higher card to your opponent

~If there was a tie the trick was set aside and the winner of the next trick takes both tricks

~Whoever wins the most tricks wins the hand then the cards are re-shuffled and the dealer switchs.

~The one who wins the hand gets to have the loser strip a piece of clothing or submit them to a dare.

~First player to win 12 hands gets to do both.

By the sound of it France had just taken a traditional game and thrown in some stripping and dares. But none of that helped explain why the Englishman kept losing! He had worked out the trick was to play the lowest card you could and still win unless you could afford to lose a trick, yet no matter what he did France had ALL the high cards.

He dealt the cards and instantly felt relief. He held all the kings apart from the diamond, the Queen and Jack of Clubs, two eights, the Ace of Hearts and the Three of Diamonds. Apart from the later two his hand was golden!

Francis smiled, "You ready to lose your briefs Angleterre?" Placing down the 5 of hearts. England grinned back evilly. Screw a poker face now.

"They are boxers frog. And I won't go down without a fight!" He slapped down the Ace.

With his hand he could get rid of the lowest card and still win easily. France took the trick and smiled.

"Such a low card mon ami,"

"No point of keeping it if your card is low too. I am not an idiot frog,"

"Oh? Then you are a fine actor non?"

England growled before setting down an 8. The 3 would come in handy if he placed a card higher then his jack. There was no point losing high cards. Francis placed a 9 and won the trick again.

"only three more tricks and you are mine Angleterre~" France sand his eyes shining with perverse intentions.

He placed a Jack down again and England smiled placing down another Jack. The draw was put to the side. Francis would have to play his highest card or risk England taking the two of them.

France knew this and bit his lip. He could play a queen but if England had a king then they would be even. He sighed and placed down the King of Diamonds.

England put down the King of Clubs.

"Angleterre~ Are you trying to claw back some dignity?"

"Shut up and play the game," England said happily. He was going to win 3 tricks!

He put down another king and looked up to see if France realised. But Francis just shrugged and placed down another King too.

"YOU BLOODY CHEATER!" England yelled knocking Francis' cards out of his hands. "STUPID BLOODY FRENCH! CAN'T TRUST ANY OF YOU!"

France was taken aback. What had he done wrong? How had he figured it out? "Angleterre! You must be mistaken. Why would I cheat a sick man who does not know how to play cards?"

"I DON'T SUCK, YOU CHEAT! YOU BLOODY WANKER!"

"Now now where's your proof?"

"How does 3 kings sound as proof you fucking idiot!"

Still confused France looked down at England's discarded hand. There like the betrayers they were sat 3 kings smiling smugly at him. That certainly explained it.

"Ah now Angleterre there must just be a mix up obvious- GAH!" England's hand were around his neck trying it seemed to make it a hell of a lot narrower.

"Angle-terre. I forfeit. I forfeit. You win the trick!"

"You're bloody well right I win that trick! And all the over ones you cheated on!" He pushed the taller nation away and started getting dressed again. It was way too cold to be naked in the first place.

France pouted. "Why hide that beautiful body Angleterre? Make me cry why don't you,"

"DON'T YOU EVEN START TRYING TO GUILT TRIP ME! NOW STRIP YOURSELF!" The silence stretched out for a few seconds as England registered what he just said.

The evillest of evil looks clouded France's face. "Of course mon Angleterre," he started to undo the buttons on his top.

"STOP IT!" Reluctantly France obeyed.

"You have to dare me to do something then,"

"I dare you to leave and go and face Spain. I don't need you here. There hasn't been a fight in ages or a bad spell for a few days. So go." England shouted in a fit of rage.

"Je ne...Je ne peux pas faire ça. Dare me something else,"

"I will not frog. Go on leave!"

"Why Angleterre? I don't want to,"

"Well too bad its a dare. Now go face Spain," the pure hate and vengeful nature was washing off England in waves.

"S'il vous plaît Angleterre..."

"No. It's pitiful seeing you grovel. Are you really scared of Spain that much?"

"Non! Ce n'est pas comme ça! Je suis inquiet pour toi Angleterre, c'est tout!"

"You. Are. Talking. French. You bloody idiot! I don't understand you!"

"BON! Je ne veux pas que vous compreniez. Il suffit de ne pas me faire partir!"

"For fuck's sake!" England said. There was only one way of getting France out of French mood, but he seriously was not going to resort to that. Best to try one last attempt first. "Snap out of it!"

His hand cracked across Francis' cheek leaving an bright red hand print. A string of French curses ensued.

Fuck it he would have to do this the 'hard' way. "This means nothing you French bastard"

He grabbed the blonde French hair and planted a kiss on the lips forming the disgusting curses. For a few seconds France resisted then his hands found it's way to England's body and started to grope where he shouldn't.

As soon as this happened England hit him round the head with an empty bottle of alcohol he had been nursing throughout the game.

Francis pulled back holding his thumping head and pulling shards of glass out of his hair.

"Ow~ your rejections always make me want to cry Angleterre,"

"Just thank me for getting you out of that French lock you were in."

"Never," France cried like he had in many of their battles before. He winked then hugged England much to the nations displeasure. "You're not really going to dare me to leave are you?"

He asked it slowly tentative that the nation in his arms would say yes and he would feel that icy hand around his heart again.

"I guess not you French bastard. I guess if Spain still has that axe then that would be sighing your death warrant." England sighed and finally gave into the exhaustion that ruled his body. He relaxed into the elder nations embrace enough to give his on edge body a reprieve yet not enough that if France turned he would not be able to get away fast enough.

France noticed the stress leaving England's body and smiled into the messy tufts of hair. He had never been allowed this close to England for a long time...while Arthur was conscious. Thinking back it had to of been before Joan.

That wiped the smile of his face. How could he be sat here so happily with Joan's murderer!

Hate and disgust bubbled and surged through his whole body and he resisted the urge to strangle Arthur till he lay lifeless in his lap. He bit his lower lip until he could taste blood trying to change his thoughts.

The reprieve came when England coughed violently, shaking both of their bodied before the racking coughs finished and he was reduced to violent shivers once more.

"Bullocks" he mumbled trying to get up but France held him fast.

"Calm Angleterre. S'il vous plait. Just relax."

For once his words were listened to as England sat back once more. France started to sway back and forth reassuringly, Arthur cocooned in his arms like you would a young child. Arthur rolled his eyes, this was no way for a gentleman to be treated yet he made no move to stop it.

It was at this point Francis began to sing.

If you have never heard him sing then words cannot even begin to describe the beauty and feeling behind each word and each note. In quiet tones he sung the old lullaby. The sound was silk running delicately and slowly over your bear skin, while around you the warmest natural light filtering through the soft translucent petals of the colourful flowers, to the sound of the most gorgeous chorus of birds.

It was,

in all sense of the word,

beautiful.

England wanted nothing more then drown in the song surrounding him like a gentle spring breeze relaxing each bit of this aching body. If he hadn't known the (hideous in comparison) sound of his voice he would of started humming along. Instead he leaned against the strong scared chest and felt his eyes start to close.

Normally he would of felt a stab of jealousy at the song, how he wished he could sing like this to America when he was restless, but that would always be impossible.

"Angleterre?" France whispered interrupting his song and annoying England.

"Hmmm?"

"I will leave if you want me to."

A stab of panic ran through Arthur as the thought of losing that song ran through his mind.

"Mais, I will only go if you come with me non?"

England froze moving his tired head under Francis' chin and staring up into those pastel blue eyes. He noticed the small cut on the Frenchman's lip yet ignored it.

"What do you mean?"

"You need a vacation, and if you are kicking me off your island then I might as well take one too. Lets go and visit our boys non?"

"I can't," Arthur said after the initial rush of longing and happiness that came over him at the thought of seeing his little 'brother'. "I can't have him seeing me like this. He panicked enough when I was a bloody pirate."

"Have you even talked to him since this war started?"

Arthur bit his lip not wanting to admit how right the silky blonde was. He knew the little nation would be panicked but he couldn't bring himself to do it. If he was to die thanks to this civil war he would rather the last memory the boy had was of him in full health instead of this.

"I thought not. I dare you to let me fix that boat for you and then we'll go."

"You've lost remember cheater. You don't have any right to dare me,"

"And yet mon ami you will not back down non?"

"Fuck you,"

"Oui, s'il vous plait,"

"Perv"

"Black sheep of York"

"Cheese monkey,"

"Ane"

"Frog"

"Grouch"

"... I hate you,"

"Je t'aime trop le rosbeef. Now go to sleep."

"Fuck you you bloody arse who-" England mumbled. His eyes were so heavy, his forehead was heating up, and he fell into a peaceful sleep about America.

France watched for a while smiling sweetly. "heh, I can't believe me caught me cheating. And my plan was working so well. I will keep you to that dare Angleterre. Even if you refuse. We are leaving this cursed place and you will be mine,"

* * *

><p><strong>Translations <strong>

Angleterre - _England_

_mon ami - my friend_

_je ne- je ne peux pas faire ca! - I can't- I can't do that!_

_s'il vous plait- Please_

_Non! Ce n'est pas comme ca! Je suis inquiet pour toi Angleterre, c'est tout! - No! It's not like that! I am just worried about you England, that's all!_

_BON! Je ne veux pas que vous compreniez. Il suffit de ne pas renoyer! - GOOD! I do not want you to understand. Just do not make me go!_

_Ane - ass_

_Je t'aime trop trop le rosbeef - I love you too roastbeef_

_**And finite! I hope you enjoyed it I had so much trouble trying to upload this -_- my lord.**_

_**REVIEWS ARE MY FUEL *hint hint***_

_**If you like it please review even if it's just to say hi or push off you suck. You know the basics.**_

_**I will hug you so~ tightly if you do leave me a message. :) **_

_**Hope you liked it **_

_**(Btw don't you love the English dub of Paint it White, which is where I got Black Sheep of York and Cheese Monkey hehe)**_


	6. Flying while Intoxicated

**NOTICE: **okay my lovelies! I realise my spellings and grammar leave... well... much to be desired so I'm looking for a beta to help me~ I would be thankful forever and a day and will hug them regularly! hehe Think about it when you read and if you are interested message me~ PLEASE haha

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Later that night, refreshed from his short kip, England hit the bottle...hard.

How could he of let himself cry in front of France? Not only that but then to practically crawl into his arms and be cooed over like a baby, it was just plain degrading! What the hell had come over him? He was never EVER going to let that happen again. He would sooner become that bloody pirate once more. Then again, he thought to himself, the power and sex had been good.

He drowned the last the rum from the bottle in his hand and grunted. He needed more. Preferably stronger as well.

Apparent to anyone but himself, Arthur had already had enough to drink. But he still couldn't get the strange feeling off himself from waking up in Francis' arms.

It had of course happened on the first night France had arrived, but earlier was different. Earlier he had had the choice.

"Fuck." England blurted out. "Fuck fuck fuckidy fuck. Shit. Bugger. Bloody well fuck." Then he let out a sharp joyful cry of "A-ha!" As he found more rum.

France who had disappeared outside when England woke, decided that this would be a good time to reappear. How wrong he was.

"Ah Angleterre. I'm thinking you made need to expand your vocabulary non?"

The Englishman retorted with such a long chain of swears, not all English, that France sighed, washed his hands and went to leave. He stopped short of the door when he saw the dozen or so empty rum bottles thrown into a corner.

"Angleterre... just how much have you drunk?"

"Not enough bastard! Now if you're not going to leave a' least move your fat arse! You're ruinin' the *hic* light show!"

"What are you talking about mon ami?" France said turning around and seeing nothing. England cracked up laughing and spoke to the bottle in front of him.

"Pwaha I know wat an idiot huh?" [1]

"Angeterre I think you have had enough-" France said reaching for the new bottle in England's hand but was almost rewarded with having his fingers bitten off.

"Git your own bloody drink you... you bloody 'it," he started giggling uncontrollably the bottle to his lips spilling it all over himself.

"Do not make me call your brothers. I will do it." [2]

Arthur scoffed. " 'ike I care! Let 'em come join the party! Ill take 'em all on and dere will be ginger corpses all over da floor~" again his speech disintegrated into laughter.

"You haven't got an army non?" [3]

"Pfft~ I don't need an army! I'm a fucking ruddy pirate mate! I'll kill 'em with my trusty cutless and with magic!"

France face-palmed. "Angleterre you are no longer a pirate and magic does not exist."

"Oh~ if dat's de case then how do you 'et girls?" England winked

"By my killer charms, sexy accent and gorgeous hair non?"

"I wasn't asking wat MAKES you a girl cheesy monkey" England sneered sending France over the edge. He lunged at England who drunkenly dodged and stood up on the table in his signature pirate dominating pose over France.

"AHHAHAHA! NO ONE CAN BEAT DE CONQUEROR OF DA SEAS! Not even dat bastard git Spain!" He threw the rum against the wall and picked up a new one. Then used his foot to try and push France off the table. It failed. "With my skill and my flying mint bunny I'm INVISIBLE!"

"Pardon, mais I think you mean invincible" France managed to say retaining his cocky nature as England's boot gridded against his spine. The drunk, flushed faced, appeared upside down, the thick eyebrows looking like they were about to eat the red face.

"Dat's wot I 'aid land lovar~! You 'are ta *hic* question the Cap'ain eh~?"

The killer aura radiating off him was enough to make any man cower. It certainly didn't help France that England was easily in reaching distance of a carving knife.

"Mon deui. I came here to get away from wars!" England ignored him instead having a sword fight with some imaginary being. His laughter filled the kitchen. At the sound of it France no longer adopted his bored pose of his chin in his hand and his other hand steadily creating a tapping noise, to look up to the dominating nation. He was swaying so much you would think he was on a boat yet the hearty laughter surprised Francis.

It had been a while since he heard it sounding that real.

He wanted nothing more then to be able to capture this moment forever. Minus of course the muddy boot on his back, the rum spilt all over the kitchen and the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something.

"No! Not Tinkerbell you swine!" England growled and jumped off the table. He seemed to forget he wasn't really Peter Pan.

He also seemed to forget he was standing on a distracted Frenchman who at that point realised that Arthur had taken off his trousers and he could see up his undergarments.

The force of England's jump pushed him off the table and he landed on the ground in pain while England was no where to be seen. France had landed on his bum having half flipped as he fell and was at that moment nursing it better.

He would be fine. He was strong healthy and had had some abuse to his bottom before. England on the other hand was ill, weak and believed he could really fly. His jump had propelled him into the air with quite some height.

Enough height in fact to hit the chandelier, spin round it several times then get stuck. It could of been worse however. He was still holding his new rum and if that had smashed...there would of been no telling how he would of reacted. Fortunately it did not so he reacted something like this.

"Weeeeeee I'm flying! Imma comin tink! You lottle flamboyant fairy!" He proceeded to swing the chandelier back and forth.

"ANGLETERRE! What the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Imma Peter Pan you old cod fish! Weee~"[4] the chandelier started to swing violently back and forth the hold working its way loose.

"Merde."

"WAHEEYYY!"

"Angleterre! Think of...well l'Angleterre!"

France's eyes widened as England lost his precarious balance and flipped over falling down. Francis scrambled to his feet and ran over to grab him. Unfortunately he misjudged it and England fell directly on his head.

Dazed, England looked about and laughed.

"Finally the frog has gone home!" he cheered happily. Before sobering, in one sense of the word. "Its too quiet. A' least it wasn't quiet with him here. No! I carn't miss 'at bastard."

France almost pushed England off of him but resisted the impulse. He was getting used to being under England.

Wow he never thought he would say that, on top maybe but under? No way.

The sooner they got of there, the better. Not only did he need to get England out of his nation before it ruined him, he also wanted to go back to wearing his own clothes again. England's were just way to small...and unfashionable! He had been wearing this tunic last year!

A sudden evil thought crossed his mind. He knew, that even though it hadn't been a solid rule between them, he would be punished greatly for it. Maybe even worse then before. He shivered which made England giggle like a school girl above him.

"Hehe! Again Wales, I wanna to ride the dragon again!"

He really was plastered.

"Oh Angleterre?" France whispered softly. England's laughter stopped and his head whipped round quickly.

"Where are you frog!"

"Now that would be telling non?"

"Ohhhh is this da frog in my head again?"

What? That wasn't creepy at all...

"Erm oui mon ami, I am your head frog."

Was England really that drunk that he thought Francis' voice was coming from inside his own head?

"Ah! I 'ave missed you."

Apparently yes he was.

"Et I've missed you too. Now mon ami you know Francis is staying with you non?"

"Oui,"

Fucking hell he was even speaking French!

"Well don't you feel sad that he has no clothes that fit him right? Maybe you should cross the channel and grab some clothes for him" France sniggered wondering if this was seriously going to work. It came as a surprise when he felt England nodding violently.

"Of bloody course how can I have been such a plonker! Let's go get him some clothes. I hate him wearing mine anyway." This was the most coherent speech so far and even that ended in a drunken whine.

"Bonne idee." France replied hardly believing his luck.

"Hey mind frog?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why don't we hook up any more?"

Frances became to shocked to keep up the pretence any more. "You fantasise about us?"

"Oh dat's not very fair! I can't of been dat forgettable. Anyway mind frog I'm going to find de real frog, talk to you soon!" With that England jumped off him and scampered leaving France utterly bemused.

That couldn't of really happened.

He made a mental note that in future if England got drunk he would be up for anything France offered. The little morsel of information was pure freaking gold!

He pushed himself up and brushed the mess off him front. Now all that was left was to somehow figure a way to get round the crazy psycho Spain. He gulped when he remembered the way the axe had glimmered above his head a few days previous. This was why he should never to the little evil voice in his mind.

* * *

><p><strong>And cut!<strong>

Sorry it's so short! this is only a filler really for me to get our characters off this miserible little island I call home and go and meet other people ;) Just having two characters for the whole story is BOOOORRRRING! For you and for me~ so now let's get some Spanish action yes? ;)

**Once again! **

**[1] **well have you never seen a drunkard talking to inanimate objects before?

**[2] **I have an idea that my country is rather freaked out by the others yet still think he is supiour... actually I think they all think they are better then the others... apart from Wales... I always see Wales as a really calm nation don't you? But Scotland and Ireland? Scary~ although man I would love to have an irish boyfriend! Their accents! *swoons*

**[3] **This isn't exactly true seeing as right now he has two armies...the Cavaliers and the Roundheads, but they are set on fighting each other and ripping their nation to shreds so technically he has no army for all of that. The last proper army he had was to fight the Irish Rebellion (this was around the time that Northern Ireland was first being set up... like not meaning to make a whole North but this was after the whole thing of the Irish Roman Catholics and the Scottish and English Protestants finally realised that all the barriers between the two were gone with the death of the Earl of Strafford and fought one another creating the divide between the north and south... YAY FOR ENGLISH HISTORY AS LEVEL!) So back to the point... I don't think that Ireland would be really happy with England right now and if he came by and saw him plastered/half pirate mode... well let's just say revenge would be sweeeeet~ but seeing as they are on bad terms... he isn't likely to visit... AND as Scotland recently invaded England demanding money or they would march on England and we ended up paying them I doubt they would do anything. -_- AND again Wales is just relaxing in some hills or something... I think at least 2 out of the 3 brothers will be all up for coming to get him when he is drunk... and maybe killing him as well :D YAY FOR BROTHERLY LOVE! haha

**[4]** Okay so Peter Pan hasn't been written at this point in time but hey... with Arthur's sight whose to say that Peter Pan isn't real! Maybe England has met him..and Tinkerbell... and Hook! OH! Wouldn't be so sooo awesome if Arthur was really Peter Pan ;) hahaha~

**I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!**

**And remember if you want some more quicker then reviews will help. Seriously look at Contagion! I got a massive surge of reviews for that for my last chapter and I've already written the next chapter and half the one after that. hehe **

**SO REVIEW! Or suffer the wait! haha **

**AND MESSAGE IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN BEING MY BETA! (yes I have just made this point 3 times! But I wanted to remind you! hehe)**

**Much Love~**

**Jo xxx**


	7. A Trip to France Wahey

**Mes Amies! So disclaimer: Me no owny Hetalia**

**Warning: extremely MILD (You heard me Mel!) yaoi... Although you would expect that sooner or later from France ;)**

**Thanks: My lovely Beta xrowa-chanx who is my lovely friend IRL and I had to ask her as she is a slight Grammar Nazi ;D Oh it was so much fun in physics and her tenancies ;)**

**Anyways ONWARDS! **

* * *

><p><strong>English Rose 7<strong>

France stood awkwardly on the dock sticking out like a sore thumb in his fine, yet sightly small, clothes. The fact that he wasn't in plain drab attire, wearing a ridiculous feathered hat or a white ribband left many passers-by wondering just where he stood in the war. He shifted uncomfortably, praying that the ever so slightly less drunk England would return soon. It was at that moment that the drunkard staggered over to France, shaking his bootie as a man followed behind him.

"Francis~ froggy boy! Look who I found! His name is... what's your name again luv?" Man could he slur those words any more?

"The names Cap'ain Merchant Lavins, nice to meet you sir! Our friend here has told me quite the story 'bout you," The messy red head wearing a scaled bandanna and eye patch stepped forwards extending his hand.

Francis grinned sheepishly. "I apologize for 'im already I think," he laid on the accent thickly as he shook the man's hand with both of his. England's citizens never seemed to understand why it was dulled at times. Being around other nations did have its affect, you know."

"No need t'was certainly exciting. All this talk about perverted Spaniards with big axes and a tendency to cut apart frogs while they are in their underwear certainly will be an entertaining story to retell the lads"

If he could, France would have happily slapped England at that moment. He could be such an idiot at times!

"Oui. Very... amusing." England was still drunk enough not to register the massive evils he was receiving from France."

"You know France. I hate Dover. Its so dirty and busy and dirty."

"You're repeating yourself, mon ami"

"And you know what's worse? Just down the coast. Like 40 minutes carriage journey is Walmer and Deal." He spat out the words forcibly.

"And those are the reasons I got invaded by that damn Rome! Him and that git Julius fucking Caesar stepping into my country because it was flat! Flat! Pah! And just when we thought we had defended well from the white cliffs! Those bloody Romans"

The captain was staring at them both in shock before grinning widely. "Maybe you're a bit too drunk to come on my boat if you think you're Britannia."

"I'm not Britannia! I'm bloody England and I can hold my liquor better than you any day!"

"Ignore 'im s'il vous plait. May we still get a lift to France?"

"I really want to rip out that beard of yours..."

"ANGLETERRE! IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR 'ANDS AWAY THIS INSTANT I WILL GET YOU INVOLVED IN MY WAR AND LAUGH AS YOU ARE RIPPED IN THREE NON?"

"Pfft~ no need to get testy," England replied with a pout before bursting into a fit of giggles. France sent a pleading look at the captain who just burst out laughing.

"I know how you feel, my friend fails to hold his ale well either. He's on my ship, you may meet him. Sorry if you don't mind my asking but he failed to tell me your names before." He flashed another smile.

"I am Francis and he is Arthur,"

"Oh?" Lavin asked, eyes twinkling. "So it's not Angleterre"

_Frick._"Erm non, that's 'ow you say Arthur in le francais. When I'm mad it slips out non?"

"Oh I'll have to remember that,"

_Mon Dieu, he fell for it._

He led them to his ship and, after England had a pirate relapse, they handcuffed him to the starboard side to stop him getting into trouble. He was soon joined by a white haired, red faced and slightly scarred (over one eye) young man. He had also obviously been drinking as well and he and England instantly hit it off talking about food and unfair friends/bosses. Supposedly neither were drunk and everything was someone else's fault. Lavin did confirm that someone called Komui had spiked the white head's food however.

France, on the other hand, accompanied Lavin to his chamber and borrowed some clothes. They were a much better fit then England's, at least. They were still a bit tight but after seeing the large hammer in the corner of his room he decided it would be better not to mention it.

With the two drunks strapped to the side of the boat the worse they could do as they sailed was sing...really badly. The crew seemed to find this hilarious, often throwing the two small change and laughing heartily as the waves broke over the pair. Even France had a laugh when the two of them tried to stand to bow and ended up banging their heads together. The way they started insulting each other reminded the nation of his own disputes with England. Man that guy could get along with nobody.

"So. Do you like him?" The cheerful voice cut through Francis' train of thought. He pushed himself upright from the side he had been leaning thoughtfully on.

"Pardone?"

"You frogs are pretty fine with hitting for the other team, right blondey? And you've been staring at him for the past half hour."

"It'z not like zat!" France denied quickly, wondering why he didn't want the captain to know. He had certainly seemed friendly enough with the other boy.

_It's simple enough mon cher. You would start talking and wouldn't know when to stop. Like always._

The captain smiled knowingly. "I get it. In this day and age. Not forgetting that he may be dead soon. A fit lad like him can't stay out of the war forever. He'd probably be dead in a week."

Something in Francis snapped. He stormed forward and grabbed a handful of the red head's shirt, tugging him until he was looking into that one eye.

"He has suffered plenty enough by this stupid war of yours, don't even joke about it. He will only die when your whole country falls and I'm not going to let that happen anytime soon!"

The man smiled wryly. "See, I was right. And you love him as much as to try the impossible. We are tearing our great nation apart in this war. Don't think I don't know it."

The surprise must have registered in his eyes for a fraction of a second because Lavin laughed again.

"All this travelling and listening hasn't been making me dumber, you know."

_Mon deiu, for a second there..._

"I mean, if only Britannia could see us now..." Now it was defiantly France's time to chuckle, reverting back to his old self. He put the captain down and moved to his original perch.

"You'd be surprised mon cher. Britannia is always watching."

* * *

><p>"Land ho!"<p>

A flurry of activity started on the boat with many ropes being thrown and lots of running about. The air was filled with the cawing of seagulls as well as the commands of each man shouting instructions. It was a miracle they all heard the right things.

"Lower the sails! Drop the anchor *hic* starboard side and get ready to loot the Spanish scum!" England commanded with a slight giggle. A look from Lavin had France wondering how the hell he was going to explain that Arthur was a captain during the armada. Simply, he couldn't so he resorted to a snort and a "typical English drunkard non?" He was very nearly knocked out by coins thrown by the white head, who promptly started crying about wasting money and his debts. Arthur was still too drunk to register any of this.

Francis really couldn't wait to get off of this boat.

* * *

><p>"893 thousand bottles sitting on the wall. 893 thousand bottles sitting on the wall. And if one green bottle should accidentally fall~"<p>

"I will knock every one of those bottles over your drunken head in a minute, Angleterre. Don't tempt me."

"Ah you're boring! How long is it going to take to get to your bloody house?"

"We'll get there when we get there, d'accord? Just stop your atrocious singing! My eardrums can't take any more."

They had been walking for 3 or so hours, at least, and Francis was walking whilst Arthur was singing loudly in his ear, legs wrapped around his waist and his arms almost strangling the French nation. England had walked for the first 10 minutes after waving their two new 'friends' goodbye yet, soon after, fell headlong into a ditch. Not only did he now smell like a sewer, but he also was pretending to have sprained his ankle. France did not know this last piece of information but he certainly knew the prior.

"Now I've lost where I was wine bastard! I guess I just have to start again. 1 MILLION GREEN BOTTLES"

"Ta gueule! I can't take any more!" He forcibly put England down and started to walk away. "You can either walk on your own, sit there and feel sorry for yourself OR stop that infernal racket you call singing."

England pouted, sticking out his lower lip. "Francey-pants is such a meanie. Fine! I don't need you! I can look after myself."

Francis raised an eyebrow and grinned. Why did this feel more like when he had to babysit America when he snuck round Canada's house? "Oh. Okay then, mon ami. I will leave you here then," He turned and walked away. It didn't take long for England to start calling back out to him.

"B-b-bastard git! You weren't really going to leave me out here, were you? Git! Bloody French git! Hey! Look at me when I'm talking, god damn it!" Surprisingly, France felt a tug on his tight clothes.

"Bastard! You were really going to leave me,"

"And you can walk. Funny that." France replied gruffly. "I hope you know you have ruined my clothes, peasant!"

"Pah! They're not even your clothes!"

"They are. I was given them. Now stop being so annoying and move your derriere."

"Fine," England grumbled, and it was the last thing either of them said to another for a good hour.

"Hey...France?" England asked, finally breaking the long quiet walk. The other nation hummed in response. "What did we come here for again?"

"Mes vetements, mon cher."

"And why?"

"Because we are going on a long trip."

"Where?"

"To America and Canada, as long as we get away from Spain."

"Why?"

"Because if Spain catches me, I'm dead meat."

"Why?"

"Because we are at war."

"Why?"

"For territorial expansion."

"Why?"

"Because we want France to be the strongest power"

"Why?"

"Because we do already, you annoying Brit. Now shh!"

Again, the silence stretched out between them, and once again England broke it

"Are we there yet?"

"Non, not yet."

"Are we there yet?"

"Non Angleterre, non!"

"Are we there yet?"

"Sacrebleu! Its been 5 seconds! We aren't there!"

About 10 seconds passed and France finally let himself relax a bit.

Mon Dieu, next time he was in England he was going to burn all the rum and possibly all the boats which reminded England of the past. He would never be able to deal with this again

"Are we there y-"

France span round on his heels and clamped a hand over England's mouth. He had finally snapped. "Angleterre, I warned you. Now you should receive some punishment, non?"

His eyes twinkled perversely and even in England's stupor the younger nation realised this was in no way a good thing. Not that he had any real say in the matter.

France's free hand pulled at England's tunic until he could slip a cold hand under to the warm yet

slightly wet skin below. His clothes were still damp from the spray of the sea. England winced at

the cold hand tracing his chest and playing with his nipples, his eyes the widest and most clear the

Frenchman had seen all night, although right at that minute he seriously didn't care. Neither did he

care that they were full of annoyance with a large spoonful of fear as well.

"Ah~" England gasped into the hand, turning several shades redder then what the alcohol already had. "F-france, stop you, ahhh~ git!"

The feel of England's lips moving on his palm made France hungry. He removed his hand, hardly giving England time to breathe as he covered it with his own mouth and grabbed the flailing fist that was trying to make impact. He laughed into England's lips, completely in control, even as England tried to stamp on his feet in protest. At the slight reprieve on his mouth, Arthur parted his lips to shout as many insults as he could to the other nation, but France saw the opportunity and took it, exploring the younger nation's mouth more fully.

"I'm...going...to fucking...kill you, git!" England managed to growl between each kiss when he really should have just taken breaths. He was getting dizzy, and it seriously wasn't a good idea to be fainting when France was like this.

"Ohonhon, did my kiss bring you back to normal, my drunk lapin?" France chortled, his hands venturing downwards. England tried one again to move away but France growled in frustration and trapped England between a tree and his body.

"Non non, naughty England. You can't get away from your punishment. You really shouldn't purposefully try to annoy me now. It'll only make things worse for you, non?"

"Bastard." England muttered, glaring. He would never admit how good the cool French hands felt upon his burning skin, or how much he was enjoying the taste of Francis. Yes, he was kissing him back; 'reluctantly', mind you. He threaded his hand into silky hair, tightening his grip as he tried his best to fight his instincts and failed. France laughed happily.

"Finally getting into it? Good little England." England looked up into the blue eyes above him and realised just how far France was going to go if he didn't stop him. Francis wasn't in his sane side of mind yet, and England still couldn't get his body to obey him and end this madness. He tried to hide his groan as France nibbled lightly on his neck. Fuck, it felt good.

"Kesesesese~ is indoors getting too boring for you, Francis?"

The sound of that all too annoying voice was all England needed to muster the strength to push the horny Francis away.

"BLOODY BASTARD FROG!" He shouted, practically all traces of his alcohol abuse earlier gone as he glowered down at the other nation. The white haired nation, who was leaning against the tree England had been pinned to moments before, was suffering from lack of oxygen so much from laughing.

Ah Angleterre, you wound me so,"

"Pfft~ No way in fucking hell you bloody pervert! That is all you deserve,"

"Oh come on Eyebrows you were enjoying it, that I saw!"

"Shut it Prussia before I actually do poison your drink next time we hit a tavern."

Prussia smiled wryly. "Oh you wouldn't manage that, I'm too awesome to fall for that old trick.

"Mon ami, why did you interrupt me?" France whined, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"What? Maybe I just couldn't stand you sucking the face off my drinking buddy here." He flung a hand over Arthur's shoulder who pushed it away and buried his face in his own hands.

"I am NEVER drinking again."

Again, Prussia laughed all too loudly, "Now where has the awesome me, heard that unawesome statement before?" He said, winking at France. "You almost had him this time then."

"I had no part in him being in that state! He is sick! I wouldn't do that to 'im when he is sick!"

This stopped Prussia short.

"Who are you and what have you done with my awesome-in-training best buddy?"

England face-palmed then instantly regretted it as pain span his head in circles. "Your definition of 'awesome' worries me to no end." Yet the tsundere nation was ignored as Prussia and France shared a moment together

"So, have you come back to face our crazed other third?"

"Ah~ Toni. He seems awfully stressed of late, I need to help him relax some non?" France winked, freaking winked! Did he have no subtlety?

"Kesese~ maybe his little toy boy isn't holding up?"

If they were talking about Romano...he was only a little kid! The bloody perverts. They were all as bad as each other, seriously.

"Sick bastards," England mumbled, wanting nothing to do with the conversation at all. He started to walk off in the direction he thought they had been walking in before, not that his clouded brain even remembered that. No, it was still too focused on that kiss, and those cool hands. Fuck, this wasn't at all good. Spending the past week or so with the 'Nation d'Amore' had really messed him up, obviously

"Ohonhon you can't expect one so small to be able to take on Spain now, could you?"

_Oh dear god almighty, please smite these fucking bastards where they stand in their wrongness and plain Frenchness!_

"So, mon ami, what are you even doing so close to Pari'?" Francis asked, clearly happy due to the look of pure blushed horror and disgust he had managed to stick onto England's face.

"Oh you know the usual. They were saying Spain killed you when you were in your underwear so I came to take your awesome remains to the closest brothel, hook you up with a girl, then make a toast to your memory. Just like we promised."

France looked on the point of bursting into tears, hugging the other nation. "Mon ami! You remembered!"

"Pfft~ Of course. I'm too awesome to forget! That, and I was all up for taking France and renaming it 'Prussia Rules' but, once again, I am disappointed.

"Ohonhon, je suis desole, but Spain always did lose focus when my semi-naked form was in the picture."

_Dear god, if you are in fact up there, please, forget about smiting them. Just kill me. I don't want to live on this planet any longer with buffoons like these!_

"As I right now have nothing else better do to, the awesome-me will accompany you!"

This snapped England right out of his little dealings with god "You can't be serious!" He spluttered as the over confident nation threw his arm around the smaller nation's shoulders once again.

"It'll be a pleasure."

"No France, don't encourage him!"

"Just letting him come with us isn't encouraging mon lapin, it is simply-"

"Stupid is what it is!" England cut in, not even letting France finish. Prussia's grip on his  
>shoulders increased to a painful amount.<p>

"What was that Eyebrows?" He asked menacingly with such a painful squeeze that Arthur was sure that more bruises were to be added to the multitude of injuries he was already suffering from.

"You heard me, you git! Get your hands off me."

"Francis, your toy boy is talking down to me, maybe we should dress him up in some black suspenders to make him submit."

England blanched. "What the fuck is wrong with you? France, tell him how stupid this is-" He turned to France for help only to see him looking at England with a look which could be compared to a hungry lion seeing a really, really tasty lamb.

"No! Snap out of it you bloody bastard! There is no way in hell you'll ever get me into black lacy suspenders!"

"Ohonhon, Angleterre what are you trying to do to me? We said nothing about lace."

"GOOD GOD NO! WHY AM I SURROUNDED BY SUCH PERVERTED GITS!"

Needless to say, Gilbert was in a fit of severe giggles. "I think England has been having his own sick fantasies!"

"This is going to be a long fucking night, isn't it?"

"Only if you want it to be," France winked, stepping forwards to take a tight grip of England's  
>jaw, looking almost as though he was about to try and jump him with Prussia watching. There was no way in hell that was going to happen.<p>

Francis' face was way too close to England's, who glared violently.

"Ah Angleterre~ You do look rather cute and angry."

"If this is what you are like when one of your friends are present, I pray to god we don't bump into Spain."

"Hey! Don't blame me for Francis! This is his own doing"

"Oh, put a sock in it!" And with that England head butted them both in the face.

Needless to say, they let go and didn't try anything again for the rest of the journey. They were too busy nursing their noses and suffering the evil glares of the Englishman who had inflicted their pain.

* * *

><p><strong>TRANSLATIONS!<strong>

**Oui**- Yes**  
>Non<strong>- No**  
>mon ami<strong>- My Friend**  
>s'il vous plait<strong>- Please**  
>ANGLETERRE<strong>- England**  
>francais<strong>- French**  
>Mon dieu<strong>- My God**  
>Pardone<strong>- Pardon**  
>mon cher<strong>-My dear**  
>d'accord<strong>- Okay/Agree**  
>Ta gueule<strong>- Shut up (rude)**  
>derriere<strong>- Behind**  
>Mes vetements<strong>-My clothes**  
>Sacrebleu<strong>- Damn**  
>lapin<strong>- Rabbit**  
>je suis desole<strong>- I am sorry

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><p><strong>Hehe I hoped you liked it~ There were times where I felt I was lagging trying to write this (once again this is purely midnight typings) so sorry if it's boring at some points and I know I promised some Spain action... but I decided to postpone it and give you some Prussia time instead! Anyways! <strong>

**Please review if you want me to update quicker next time XD (Yeah so sorry it took me so long!)**

**REVIEWS**

**KaiyoUchiha**

**updated updated updated updated updated updated updated! Hahaha~ I hope it was too your satifaction.**

**PunkIggy**

**Sorry gave you some Prussia Action instead ^^" Glad you liked the FrUk I put the black suspenders in for you... hopefully you enjoyed it XD You know just for a laugh ;D **

**Maiya123**

**Hehe as you loved Drunk!England have some more! WAHAHA! I would love to see your "Halloween" fic ;) It sounds like it could be rather funny~ Who would be his Wendy hmm? ;) **

**1silentmouse**

**haha yay! Maybe I could send off the chapter to Cash my Gold (If you don't get that I may cry :') haha) But glad you liked the Mind-Frog! I was a bit worried about that bit if I'm perfectly honest ^^"**

**Anactolica**

**Hey I wrote wrote wrote and you screamed at me in the streets about the scene under the tree and for using your awesomeness to help break it up! I take back those cookies!**

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><p><strong>Oh yeah that reminds me...<strong>

**COOKIES FOR ALL WHO REVIEW ;D (and I'm talking ENGLISH cookies! You know the biscuits with chocolate chips in them~) ...have a strange feeling that people are going to run for the hills then try the English food now... woops!**

**Toodles!**


	8. Trees, Plans and Spanish Dogs

**IMPORTANT!**

**Hai guys. Okay this is the thing. For a small running joke in this chapter you are going to need to understand the Spanish said in this chapter. (Oh yes hint there hmm?) And so for this chapter I will be putting the English next to the Spanish. If you can read Spanish then go ahead and ignore them. But otherwise enjoy and hopefully laugh. After this chapter it'll go back to normal. **

**I have to say sorry for the wait. I mean... GOSH it's been ages. But I wanted to get one up before my silence that's going to be happening for the next few months. I have super important exams coming up so I have to revise. (meant to be revising now but got very annoyed and gave up) **

**Erm... I was meant to say something else. **

**Thank you Mel for betaing this for me at last minute! **

**Oh! Got it. HERE'S YOUR COOKIES GUYS! throws cookies Review for more ;) hehe**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

They arrived in France's forest as the sun grazed the horizon. They had ended up walking for the rest of the day and well into the night to get there. England had adamantly refused to sleep on the dirty ground and they were all on the point of collapse. However even as their silent wishes and prayers were answered by the extravagant French building, they stopped. For obvious reasons. The main one of these being a huge fence in their way, and the second, a huge Spanish flag decorating the roof. France was the first to recover.

"Ma maison! Ma beau maison! I will kill him, le bâtard!"

Prussia snapped out of his stunned impress and quickly held back his long haired friend. He still couldn't get over it though. How the fuck had Spain managed to get a flag that big? He needed to know and he needed one bigger. There was no way Spain was going to win 'who has the biggest _' this year. Maybe he should get a country sized one.

England, on the other hand of this strange trio, was actually doing something constructive: trying to find a way in. He was pretty sure trying to climb the huge structure would only end with them being caught, and with Francis' rather loud exclamations maybe sooner rather then later.

"France put a sock in it will you," he hissed under his breath as he heard all too clearly the barks of some rather loud dogs. The curses left those French lips faster as the canines grew closer. Fuck, he hated dogs.

"Prussia, do the world a favour and shut his pie hole."

Prussia obeyed, shoving the only thing he had at his disposal into the cursing gob: his 'awesome' hand. Which was 'un-awesomely' bit. Very hard. Needless to say Prussia screamed... like a girl, not that he would admit it. The dogs barks were definitely getting closer now. They would be found out if those two idiots didn't stop their cussing and just sucked it up.

"Come on move it," England growled, grabbing the two by their collars and dragging them into the bushes, seconds before three massive dogs jumped up to the wooden gate. All three of the nations held those breath as the dogs' owners came into earshot.

"¿Qué es Bruno? ¿Hay alguien allí?" _[What is it Bruno? Is anybody there?]_

"¿Tu perro tuvo que decidir ladrar más lejos de la puerta, no?" _[Your dog had to choose to bark furthest away from the gate didn't he?]_

" Apuesto a que son los niños del pueblo otra vez." [_I bet it's only children from the village again._]

"Este Francis debe de tenía una cosa para los niños. Todos vienen a su entrada trasera." [_This Francis must have had a thing for the children. They all come to his back entrance._]

"¿Entonces como nuestro jefe?" [_Like our boss then?_]

"Sí! Algunas veces me compadeszo de ese pequeño italiano..." [_YES! I feel really sorry for that short Italian sometimes..._]

The guards laughed and as England glanced around he saw Francis' stony face and Gilbert suppressing giggles. Obviously they knew Spanish or at least enough to know what was being said. By reactions alone England reckoned it was some sort of insult.

"Mejor vamos y echamos un vistazo. El Jefe se va enojar sino." [_We better go and have a look. Boss will be angry otherwise._]

"Sí, sí. Si es niños de ciudad aunque yo tome tus raciones de cena." [Y_es, yes. If it's children from the city though I will take your dinner rations._]

The guards retreated and all three of those in the bush let out a heavy sigh of relief. Or at least England and France did. Prussia proceeded to roll about of the floor laughing.

"Merci dieu for wood non?" France muttered, getting to his feet and brushing leaves off of himself. "I thought they were bound to just shoot blindly through that fence, the idiots."

Prussia sat himself up on one elbow and grinned up at the critical nation.

"Hey Mr France, are you meeting me at the back entrance again today?" he said in a high pitched falsetto voice before bursting again into his distinctive laugh. That was until France kicked him in the gut.

"Don't make me point out, mon ami, that you and Spain are the ones with your under-age charges where as mine is well and truly grown up."

"Don't go bringing mein brüder into this. I don't do the un-awesome things you and Spain get to do."

"Prussia, I may be a lover to the masses mais I only cater to those of refine tastes and children do not possess that trait.'

"I don't even care what this is all about but quit your twittering and help me figure how we are going to get in already."

"Oh chill England. The guards are coming this way."

"That's exactly why we should be moving cheese ball. If we get caught we'll have the inquisitor on our arses."

"Ah you worry too much. Listen to me, I have an awesome plan, kesesese..."

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><p>"This is never going to work."<p>

"Oh quit being so pessimistic. The awesome-me came up with it, so of course it will work."

"Ah hiding in trees does take me back, doesn't it you Angleterre?"

"S-shut it frog! We said we would never talk about that again!"

"Ohonhon of course Angleterre, you are most likely making new memories in the trees with that girl you sneak off to see every morning."

"Kesese, what's this then? England getting some morning action? I don't believe it.'

"IT'S NOT TRUE!'

"Shh! They're finally here."

Below them the three Spanish men they had heard earlier walked into the small clearing, weapons raised. The nation trio hardly dared to breathe. One wrong movement or sound and it would give the whole game away. If you could call this a game.

The dogs sniffed round the bottom of the tree they were hidden in.

"¿Encontraste algo, Bruno? ¡Buen perro! Prepárate paara darme tus raciones." [_You found something Bruno? Good dog! Get ready to give me your dinner rations._]

They walked forwards into the decaying leaves, weapons raised. Just a few more steps.

"Alto. Algo no esta bien." [_Stop. Something doesn't feel right._]

Shit.

Even England knew the Spanish word for stop, having heard it plenty of times during the Armada. Their plan was going to fail.

The most sensible thing would be to call off the ambush, give it a few, then attack from a completely new angle. Unfortunately, the 'king' of tactics decided against this.

"AWESOME ATTAC-GAK!"

"¡Qué joder!" [_What the fuck?_]

The idiotic nation had gone to jump out of the tree, only to have his leg catch in his own roped trap and was now looking like a ghostly piñata. An upside down ghostly piñata.

England face-palmed as France tried to suppress the giggles trying to escape his closed lips.

"I bloody well told him this wasn't going to work. But did the idiot listen to me? Frog, this way."

Francis yelped as he was suddenly yanked to one side, losing his balance on the branch he had been perched on. He fell rather awkwardly onto his backside and looked up at England with hurt eyes. England scoffed, standing above him, a small smile hiding as best as it could. He pulled the nation onto his feet and into the bushes. Luckily for them, the three guards heard nothing of this slight struggle or the silent conversation they'd held. Instead one of these guards was prodding Gilbert with his bayonet while another was trying his hardest to keep a straight face at the thought of extra food that night. The last one looked less then happy.

"¿A quién joder eres? ¿Qué haces aquí? " [W_ho the fuck are you? What are you doing here_] the latter asked, his annoyed voice cutting through the crisp morning air.

Gilbert grinned and replied in fluent Spanish, "I'm just a young kid from the town come to see Brother Francis. He said it was my turn to feel good today. Is he at home?"

In the bushes England suddenly found himself trying to hold the Frenchman back as he tried his hardest to break not only England's grip, but hopefully Prussia's nose as well. They were friends but did he really have to make him sound like a paedophile? He knew as well as anyone that it wasn't true.

"Francis, if you don't stop moving I swear to God I will cut your feet off and curse you to become a chicken," He threatened in hushed whispers.

"But Angleterre! He keeps insulting me!"

"How old are you? Seriously? Five? Grow up!" France stopped struggling grumpily but England didn't remove his arms. Just in case of course. He didn't want the taller Frenchman ruining what little part of a opportunity they had now. Or at least that's what he told himself. He refused to even think that he actually enjoyed having Francis in his arms. And if he said it aloud then by God he would never be allowed to forget it.

Back in the clearing it was obvious that Prussia was being interrogated. For some reason he seemed to be enjoying being strung up and threatened... not that England was going to read too much into it. For the sake of his mind and eyes. He knew when to not let his imagination roam free. Again he surveyed the scene and finally smiled.

"Hey Frog," he whispered into Francis' ear. He felt the other nation tense before gently running a hand up his thigh.

"Yes Angleterre?" he whispered back sultrily, leaning back further, his hand moving inwards.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME YOU BLASTED FRENCH BASTARD!"

He pushed Francis away who quickly turned round and shoved his hand in England's mouth before he could go any further in the curses he was spouting.

"Shhh!"

In the clearing things had gone deadly quiet as the guards suddenly started searching for the source of the noise.

"Oh I wouldn't mind them. Probably just some Frenchman having some fun with a passing merchant. They tend to do it in the forests you know," Gilbert said with a smile and after a few minutes the guards once again turned their attention back to him with only as much as a "frisky Frenchmen" to say about the incident.

"Sacre bleue Angleterre, are you trying to get us caught?"

"Says the one that was groping me!"

"You were asking for it Arthur."

"Oh shut up you sex fiend and get ready. We're going to knock these Spanish gits out and go save your stupid friend."

"Aye aye captain."

"Shut up, grab a branch and wait for my signal."

"Fine fine you bossy nation you,"

England left the other nation, shoving a branch into his arms as he quickly yet quietly made his way to the other end of the clearing. He made himself as inconspicuous as possible and waited for that perfect moment to strike. It was going to be hard. There were three guards and 'Bruno' against the two of them, thanks to Gilbert's stupid mistake. It didn't matter though. They were nations. It would be over real quick when they–

A fresh pain ripped through England's side, cutting off his train of thought. He clutched at it, biting his lower lip to suppress the screams. That was right. He was at war. Although Francis was too it wasn't to this extent. How could England forget that his body was fighting itself? He shouldn't be here. Slowly he pulled his fingers away to see the crimson staining them. Fuck. His legs gave way beneath him as the compulsive shivering began. When had it gotten so cold and dark? His breaths came in short bursts as images of what was happening ran though his mind.

Horses' corpses were flung over the city walls. Disease spreading fast. People eating one another in hunger. Children crying, being killed so they wouldn't have to suffer.

France was watching him from the other side of the clearing suddenly worried for his friend. All he had seen was England's face turn white before he disappeared out of sight. He gritted his and held his position he had to act now.

He sauntered out of the bush tripping every now and again, making as much noise as possible. He used the heavy branch as a cane, or at least a very sturdy support.

"Oh~ mon amis, qu'est-ce qui se passe? qui ressemble à s'amuser" _(My friends, what's going on? It looks like fun) _

The guards shot him one look and dismissed him. What was one more drunk Frenchman?

"Que fait?" (W_hat can I do?)_ he asked slapping a guard heavily on the shoulder.

"Nada. Regresar a su casa que usted borracho." _(__Nothing.__Go__ home __you__drunk.__)_

France pouted and like Gilbert spoke in fluent Spanish. "But that would be no fun."

As the guards turned round the first one was met by the heavy branch crashing onto his face. He hit the ground hard. The next one fumbled with his weapon. He had to be new to the job if he failed to remember the steel sword on top of the dangerous gun. Francis smiled and smashed his weapon into the Spanish man's stomach. He bent over, winded, dropping his gun and Francis took the opportunity to whack the man across the back. He crumpled to the floor. Gilbert was laughing and shouting words of encouragement as the last guard stood there wide eyed. Francis smiled his bone chilling smile once more and the young man's eyes grew huge in fear. Francis pouted as the young guard thought better of attacking and ran for the edge of trees.

"Now now, that isn't very fun now is it?" France chided then threw the branch towards the man. It connected with a sickening thud and he collapsed, having almost made it to safety. "Ohonhon! Angleterre, your little stick idea worked. Pity you were such a coward you didn't help non?"

"Hey... Erm buddy, fancy letting the awesome me down?"

Francis 'shh'ed him as he walked past, giving him a small dagger he had slipped into his boot. His whole entire being was concentrating on where he had last seen England. "Angleterre?"

"You're expecting me to cut myself down? I'll fall flat onto my awesome face!"

France remained fixated on the bushes, paying him no mind. Gilbert sighed and reached upwards to work at the thick rope. Or at least he was working on it, until that little thing they had forgotten about turned round and bit him on the bottom.

"Gak! Nice right don't- no! Francis! Save me this dog is trying to eat me!"

"Calm down Prussia. It's only a petite chien." France tried his hardest to stay calm with both his emotions and with Gilbert as he pushed the branches out of his eye sight. What if England had suffered another battle? Being in a foreign country had never helped the injuries inflicted in your own country. It was always worse, almost like you were being punished for not fighting along with your people. For not 'dying' with them. If England was that hurt, that destroyed, then it would all be France's fault. He didn't think he could handle that at all.

"Angleter-"

"STUPID FUCKING MAN!"

A fist came swinging out of the bush and connected with France's jaw. He fell backwards, hand cradling the affected area in shock.

"WHEN I GET BACK I'M GOING TO KILL THOSE BASTARDS! HOW BLOODY DARE THEY! NO, I KNOW I'M GOING TO KILL THAT BLOODY GINGER BROTHER OF MINE! HOW DARE HE LEAVE THEM AND GET BLOODY DEFEATED! HE PROMISED THEM! THE FUCKING BASTARD!"

England was now on his feet screeching at the top of his lungs cursing the New Model Army and, by both of the Bad Touch Trio member's opinion, Scotland.

"Angleterre calm down, s'il vous plait. We will be found."

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF HE WAS ANNIHILATED AT PRESTON. IT WAS HIS OWN FUCKING FAULT FOR BEING SO FUCKING SLOW! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON HIS SKIRT-WEARING BEHIND I'LL MAKE HIM WISH HE HAD NEVER INTERFERED. I'LL RIP OUT HIS STOMACH AND MAKE BLOODY SCOTLAND HAGGIS! THEN WE'LL SEE WHOSE THE BETT-"

His eyes widened in shock and he turned his head slowly to see the quivering dagger protruding from the trunk of the tree at eye height. France spun around speechless, to see Gilbert the right way up, clinging onto the rope above him in an attempt to get away from the dog.

"You're welcome! Now help me the fuck down!"

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><p>"Wow, it was bloody good luck these clothes were the right size, right chaps?" England asked pulling on the cuffs of the sleeves in a smug manner. Prussia and France turned to him with looks of pure indignation on their faces.<p>

"Speak for yourself eyebrows. This outfit is tiny! Why can't all Spanish men be tall like Toni?" Prussia whined.

France pulled down on the seat of his borrowed trousers irritably. "Or have nice arses like his non? Ow! Angleterre that was uncalled for." England had stabbed him in the arm with the sharp needle he had been carrying in his boots. "Stop moving! You'll reopen the wound you daft Englishman!"

"Like hell I will frog! My stitches are perfect!"

"They are pretty good for being done on himself."

France sighed and rubbed his arm where the needle had penetrated. "I still think you should have let me sew you up..."

"With your clumsy frog fingers? Not bloody likely!"

"These hands are works of art! Your narrow minded Britishness just stops you from appreciating their beauty."

"Yeah and pigs fly,"

"They must then because these hands are magnificent."

"Have you seen a pig fly?"

"I have not ever seen a pig not flying."

The two warring nations had got rather close, yet their voices were getting louder and louder as the fight continued. It was only as England started to make personal jibes at Francis' hair that Gilbert sensed alarm bells and broke the two of them up.

"Now now ladies, if you are finished in your lovers tiff we really should be getting on with the rest of the plan, kesesese..."

The two other nations turned and stared at Gilbert.

"And what pray tell is the rest of this masterful plan hmm?" England asked curtly.

"You can't seriously be expecting me to walk about in these robes much longer! They are so tacky! Almost as bad as England's clothes!"

"HEY! My clothes are fine! The latest fashions even!"

"Ohonhon we all know you are years behind on the fashion Angleterre. My people were wearing your clothes ages ago."

"Bastard!"

Prussia sighed once more, looking up to the heavens. "And they blamed me for the earlier mishap. Maybe I awesomely jumped out of that tree so I wouldn't have to hear any more of this."

A small yellow chick fluttered down from the sky with a familiar chirp causing a huge grin to stretch over his face.

"Gilbird!" He listened intently for a few seconds to the chirping before once again turning to confront the other two. "Mein awesome Gilbird has told me the coast is clear. So get your sorry arses moving. GOTT VERDAMMT! England keep that thing under control!"

England scoffed and called the dog over. Although at first Bruno had been pretty hostile he seemed to have taken a likely to England. How this was possible the other two other nations still were wondering.

"Sorry, I guess Bruno thinks you're a rabbit," England said with a slight malicious glint in his eye. Prussia swallowed at the almost pirate-like look then proceeded to glare daggers at the Spanish dog. Bruno hit him back with a similar look of revulsion, if that was even possible. These exchanges progressed and got steadily worse until they came to the gate.

"Are you sure that this is a good idea? We could of just gone and brought you some new clothes."

"He has mon maison Angleterre! I am not letting this lie!"

"He's right Eyebrows. He can't just sit back as Spain eats all his food and harvests all his children now can he?"

"That's right- wait! I do not do anything with children Gilbert! Don't go giving England that impression!"

"Too late frog. I've had that impression for ages."

Bruno nuzzled against England's leg. He sighed and scratched the dog behind the ears. Jeez he was acting more like a cat.

"Come on then, let's complete this suicide mission."

"I'll go first because I'm awesome!" Prussia said loudly. So much for being discrete. He kicked the gate door open and entered in the loudest fashion he possibly could. France chortled slightly and looked over to England who had his face in one hand shaking his head.

"Idiot. Bloody idiot."

"COME ON GUYS! THE COAST IS CLEAR!" Gilbert shouted back.

"He is going to get us caught he is," England mumbled, now pinching the bridge of his nose.

"That's half the fun non?" France said with a slight smile and took England's hand away from his head, squeezing it reassuringly. "Let's go mon amour."

The smaller nation blushed scarlet, snatching back his hand but followed the other into the manor gardens. Gilbert was right. There was not a guard in sight. The gate closed behind them and locked with a resounding clang.

Alarm bells rang in England's mind. Something was not right.

It was then that Bruno started barking.

Guards from all over the building and gardens came rushing towards them.

Okay, they were screwed.

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><p><strong>Translations<strong>

Okay so most of the main translations were next to the different languages. But hey I still left out a few. Really you should know them but ah well. Here they are~

**Ma maison! Ma beau maison!**- My house! My beautiful house! (French)

**Le Batard** – The bastard (French)

**Merci dieu** – Thank you God (French)

**non?** - No? (French)

**Mon ami** – My friend (French)

**Angleterre** – England (French)

**Sacre Bleue** – Sacred Blue/damn/ what ever you want to say it is. (French)

**S'il vous plait**- please (French)

**Mein bruder** – my brother (German)

**gott verdammt** – God Dammit (German)

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><p><strong>Review Replies<strong>

**Anactolica**- Firstly seriously just thinking of writing Mel here... My fingers don't like writing your name! Haha~ Of course I used the "Awesomeness-in-training" you are my resident Prussia. You are basically my breeding ground of inspiration for what he would say! And yeah~ ah well you now know the truth of my writing don't you ;) Prude!Jo no longer really exists XD

**M. Cullen Hightopp**- Sorry I didn't update for... AGES! Haha glad I can make it cute and dramatic at the same time! Mission accomplished! Everyone loves England's mind frog... I think it needs to be created! XD I WANT A MIND FROG!

**Maiya123**- Oh dear **facepalm** I have the images of America Romano and Prussia all lined up in the same blue Victorian night dress with America like WTF, Romano scowling with his arms crossed and Prussia laughing and pulling at Romano's cheeks because he is so 'awesome'! Luckily for England you're not France huh? ;) Although after the campfire chat we had~ I'm sure France would love to hear your ideas~ Well minus the spear :D But I LOVED the spear!

**JoyHeart** – (Chapter 6) hahaha Everyone loves the Mind Frog. Even I love my mind frog. I think we all have one **hand over heart.** Glad you enjoyed the chapter! Now get on and read/review chapter 7 and 8 ;) haha~

**KaiyoUchiha**- haha Oh I always love your reviews XD HAVE YOUR COOKIES! And I love the banner! Banner = awesomeness And for that here's an extra cookie hehe~ But hey look! **points upwards** I UPDATED! Haha

**FullOfAwesomeness44**- Dude... YES! Can I hug you? I want to hug you. You got the D. Gray-Man cameo! **Hugs!** Happy happy happy! Hehe~ I feel I should give you something for getting it... hmm It'll come to me hehe~. I hope you enjoyed the Prussia time in this! Your review made me giggle my head off~ please review again!

**SakaOUO**- (Chapter 1) I'm hoping you read the rest of it **pokes** If not I will come for you ;) haha~ Thank you very muchly though :)

THANK YOU GIRLIES (and guys... I don't know) FOR REVIEWING! HERE ARE YOUR COOKIES! **throws cookies into crowd** Each of them made me very happy, some made me laugh but they all ended up with me smiling like an idiot~ hehe. Once again I'm so sorry it took me forever, and unfortunately I won't be able to update for AGES what with my A-Levels fast approaching. But please stick with me!

**CHOCOLATE CAKE FOR EVERYONE NEXT TIME! But you can have cookies if you want to be a traditionalist haha~**

TOODLES!


	9. The Wine Escape

**Hey guys! Did you miss me? I missed you guys! Admittedly there aren't very many of you, and there are probably less now, but I'm here! And writing again. I can't promise you that I'll update regularly, nor that what I come out with will be the quality you want it to. I just never realised just how much I've taken on or the actual time it takes me to write! So at least it'll take a month or two to get a new one up because I'm so slow! I apologise... greatly. **

**NOW! Guess what!? I finally got a beta! You guys don't have to freak out or hate me because of my terrible grammar. :') Isn't that a happy thought? My lovely Francey-pants98 (who I have also written a one shot for) has agreed to help me greatly after getting bored, reading English Rose, and seeing my plee. BE HAPPY GUYS!**

**Also Thank you for your reviews :3 I GIVE YOU COOKIES!... although I am not sure what I promised you last time... next time cake? **

**Remember guys if you like my stuff please leave a review. It really motivates me to write. :)**

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><p>"I knew this bloody plan wouldn't work. Even when we were so drunk, we ended up at your place, half dressed, having lost consciousness feet from the bed! Have you ever come up with a worse plan?!" England moaned, drinking heavily out of the bottle. Why France had hidden wine in a dungeon, he didn't want to know. All he cared about was the fact that it would numb the pounding in his side and help him forget this whole situation. He went to neck it, but Prussia snatched it out of his hands, spilling a considerable amount on the Englishman.<p>

"Why the bloody hell did you do that?!" England shouted pushing the Prussian rather unsuccessfully.

The albino laughed and took a swig, wincing a bit at the sweet taste.

"Because I am awesome, ja? And the plan would have worked if you hadn't brought Sir Barks-a-Lot with you."

"So uncivilized, not only are you arguing like little brats, but you are both drinking my precious wine all wrong."

"Shut up, France."

"Maybe if you were a real man and had hidden Prussian beer down here instead, it would be a different story."

"You pigs just can't understand the beautiful taste as it hits your uncivilized taste buds," France snorted, sitting on the stone bed of the bell while the other two sat, by choice, on the floor.

It had been hours since Bruno had decided to bark the manor down and had the three of them thrown in the Frenchman's own cells. Obviously, tensions were running high, and alcohol was running low. Not a good combination.

"Having fun, are we?" asked a strangely cheerful voice from the other side of the bars. The trio stopped their bickering and all turned to look at Spain. The dark, messy haired nation smiled at them warmly, although none of that warmth touched his eyes in the slightest amount.

"I do hope you're having fun. It would be oh-so boring if you weren't." His slight pony tail swung as he chuckled to himself.

"Spain, why are you in my house? You haven't won the war and there has been no talk of mon capital being invaded." France was trying to act nonchalant but his eyes also betrayed his determination and slight humour of what was going on.

"Oh, you know, just came by to visit my back-stabbing friend."

"Ohonhon, you take this all too seriously. It's only war, and we've been talking peace since May." France leaned back inspecting his nails happily.

"It doesn't mean a thing until it is signed, amigo," Spain glared back, clearly hating the calm, French face.

"I know that as well as you, mon ami."

If looks could kill, they would both be six feet under the ground. England had the sense to keep his mouth shut. Another nation there did not.

"Hey Spain, when are we getting out of here? I fancy a change of clothes and some real beer." Both pair of bloodthirsty eyes turned on Prussia almost making him gag on his words. "Or, I can just wait until you feel awesome enough to help me."

Even though the comment was snarky, his retreat to the furthest corner told otherwise. Needless to say, he didn't speak again for the rest of the exchange. There was nothing said that none of them didn't expect. The normal dance of insults being thrown by Spain and France with England grumbling about both of them being useless idiots. Although, when the pleasantries were over with, Spain did something that surprised the lot of them.

"Have fun in Hell, mi amigos," he waved as he walked away. Both England and Prussia jumped to their feet and clung to try the bars in desperation.

"You can't seriously be leaving us in here, you long haired prat!"

"Yeah, what happened to us being brothers?! I can understand why you would leave the French half of our trio locked up, but you can't leave me in here too!"

Despite their pleading, Spain just waved at them and carried on walking, his ponytail swishing side to side. When the dungeon door closed with a resounding clang, both Prussia and England slumped down against the bars. Not a good idea with France in full view of their bums in very tight uniforms.

"Ohonhon, mes amis, if you really want it that badly, I would be more than happy to claim your derrières."

With their familiarity with Francis's wandering hands, they both knew he was only half serious.

"You can't handle the awesomeness that is my posterior," Prussia retorted looking proud of himself. "I've been waiting to use that line for ages!" he hissed at England who shot him a look, which basically said _"Really?"_

"Oh, I'm sure I could manage it," France replied with a wink but had yet to move to make good on his offer. Instead, he met England's eye and coy smile on his lips. "Care to join us, Angleterre? We'll be careful with you."

England rounded on France looking furious.

"Oh, shh, you bloody perverted lunatic. Unlike you, who is already at home, I have to get out. So stop being an arse and get us out of this god forsaken pit!" Pain throbbed from his wound again as he raised his voice but he paid it no mind and kept glaring at the French man.

Francis raised an eyebrow but nether the less, he stood up and patted down his trousers. "Now, now, Angleterre. I just wanted to see Spain's smug face, so I can pull a matching one when I next see him. Which won't be in such grotty conditions. Now don't make a sound. This requires great concentration." With that said, and under the inquisitive yet silent stare of the two other nations, France took the wine bottle, stoppered it, and carefully put it back where they had found it. He barely made a sudden movement or touched any of the sides as he slipped it into its original place. When it was finally secure, he slowly turned it so the label faced upwards. He did this with every bottle they had consumed or had partly drunk until there were no bottles left on the floor. With the holes in the wall filled once more, Francis sighed and moved to the other wall, and back to the place he had been sitting. "Well then, let's get going." He slapped his palm against the concrete forcefully and a square of the wall moved inwards sharply. The back wall of a small alcove adjacent moved aside with a loud rumble. Prussia and England stared in shock before Prussia loudly yelled through the echoing cell, "Awesome! To freedom and Prussian beer!"

The white-haired nation scrambled to his hands and knees and crawled through the small gap disappearing from sight. England went to follow, but the Frenchman caught him by the shoulder.

"Angleterre, we need to talk."

A frustrated look lodged itself in England's features.

"Oh give it a rest, France. We can talk when we get out of your bloody country." He tried to push past Francis but failed.

"We need to talk now, otherwise you'll run straight back to England, I won't know what is happening, and you will try to shut me out again!" By the annoyed glare, Francis knew he was right.

"I can't believe you. I was trying to help! To get you out of that toxic land and what is was doing to you. Yes, there are small battles still happening, but your king is captured. The parliamentarians have won. So I demand to know what happened to cause you that injury!"

England scoffed.

"You demand to be told? You demand?! You have no jurisdiction over my country. You cannot demand to know anything, you filthy Catholic! My country is my own. You have no right to anything!"

"You Puritan swine! You don't even know what religion you are!" France pulled a face, squaring up to the Brit and spoke in a poor British accent, "Am I Catholic or Protestant? I was Catholic before Fat Henry, Mary was very Catholic, but Elizabeth was much more Protestant. Oh woe my fair Queen Liz oh boo-hoo-hoo."

"I never said that!"

"Oh yes you did! Four bottles into your binge night!"

"Liar! Don't insult my memory. I would of never have uttered that blasphemy! And don't mock my golden age queen!"

"Did your memory tell you much about talking to the real mind frog? Oh mind frog lets have sex, mmm, oh, please you were so good last time."

"LIES, YOU INSOLENT BASTARD!" England screeched, fury in his features.

"You know it's true!"

"Is not!"

"Is too."

"NOT, NOT, NOT!"

"Oh, you child! Grow up, you need my help whether you want it or not." England bristled at being called a child.

"I do not need the help of a pervert!"

"You call me the pervert when you are the one having the strange fantasies."

"Lay off!"

"I'd rather 'lay on' if we are talking positions here."

"Stop twisting what I'm saying!"

France laughed.

"I am not. I am simply stating fact."

"Why you-"

"Shut up, prisoners! I'm trying to sleep!"

Both France and England froze mid argument.

"How much do you think he heard?" England whispered.

France shrugged, smiling.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough, parle."

"We're going to get caught if we stay here any longer." England was really killing his voice hissing the replies.

"We can be away as soon as you take your head out of your ass and tell me what happened back there."

England shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly deeply interested in the dirt flooring.

"It's none of your business," he mumbled half- heartedly, now unable to stop the flash of images in his mind of what had happened.

Francis sighed and stepped forward to hug Arthur.

"Look, mon ami, I only want to help, but if I don't know what is going on then there's nothing I can do to support you."

"But there is nothing you can do. We can't stop humans from fighting. I've tried, you've tried, every single nation has tried. There is nothing you or I can do but wait it out and maybe pray that we get out of this alive." England's sad, broken eyes fixed onto France's shocked blue pair. When France made no attempt to dispute, England smiled softly.

"You see, so don't worry about me. Everyone has a civil war or two. I'll get through mine somehow." He stepped past the taller nation and ducked into the tunnel. "Come on frog, I need to get home so I can kick some Scottish jacksy!" Francis smiled back and followed, mind humming with ideas.

What if there was a way to help England?

England's eye twitched as he took in the sight in front of him.

"Who the hell needs this many clothes!"

It was quite a sight; silks draped with lace looking divinely expensive, cotton with gold belts, cloaks which trailed elegantly on the floor were decorated with beautiful embroidery and bronze clasps and buttons. In every available space, clothes hung, no creases and perfect. It was almost like a decorated maze of fabric.

"Impressed Angleterre? This is a real walk in, up to date, wardrobe."

Francis leaned on the door frame grinning from ear to ear. Still dressed in the small uniform, it was a rather ridiculous sight, him gloating over his collection.

"There is nothing wrong with my wardrobe!" Although the thought of his slightly drab collection being compared to such a magnificent display made Arthur a bit nervous.

"There is plenty wrong with it and you know it," France replied smugly, pushing off the door frame and sauntering up to his clothes. "I'm back, babies. Did you miss me?"

"Francis, those are clothes, fabric, they can't miss you," England sighed exasperated, rubbing the bridge of his nose. All the colours were giving him a headache.

France gasped dramatically and held on tightly to a blue, satin shirt. "Don't listen to him babies. He believes fairies are real."

Outside of the room, they had very sneakily snuck into, the sound of crashing pottery sounded down the hall.

"My precious vase! I will make that Spaniard pay."

"Oh, shut it and hide," England hissed pulling France into a clump of hanging clothes. After a few seconds, they heard running footsteps, followed by what seemed to be a stampede. Not long after that came a cry of 'You can't catch me I'm too awesome to be- Gah! Spain!' From their hidey-hole, they caught sight of a very impressive tackle from Spain sending both him and the loud nation crashing past the door. Following behind was a large group of out-of-breath guards trying their best to keep up. Both of them looked at each other trying to absorb what had just happened. They waited until the noise had died down before emerging.

"What is that crazed albino thinking?"

"Why, Angleterre, don't you recognise a diversion when you see one?" France smirked.

"Of course I do, bastard! Cromwell uses it to defeat Prince Rupert's thunderbolt charge!" England pouts, annoyed, hand unconsciously going towards the wound from Marston Moor. "Look, if Prussia is providing such a good distraction, get changed, grab some clothes and lets run."

"Good plan mon cher." France didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed a bag and placed clothes into it carefully, almost like he was handling real-life babies. England bounced on the balls of his feet for a few minutes waiting. His patience was wearing thin. When the sounds of searching started down the corridor, he turned to France to tell him they had to go, but ended up stumbling on his words. The Frenchman was standing there, a look of pure pain and horror on his face as he clung to a pink shirt and a blue one of the same design.

"Francis, what's wrong?" England asked, failing to keep the panic hidden.

"It's terrible, Angleterre! Sacre bleur! So terrible!"

"What? What is it? Francis, answer me!"

Down the corridor, the guards moved one room closer.

"I can't do it Arthur I can't!" Francis was practically sobbing now.

"What can't you do?!

"I-I can't decide. The rose will go well with my leather belt but blue is in fashion now!"

The slap was very loud. France recoiled in shock as England grabbed his napsac and started flinging clothes into it.

"You need to get your fucking priorities straight you bloody git!" he said, back turned to the blonde haired nation now fixing him with a look of distaste and annoyance.

"You could of just picked a colour and told me to hurry up in your stuck-up English accent, clochard," France muttered darkly.

"Just get changed, France! I couldn't care less if I have wounded your precious pride at this point."

"You do not need to be such a bastard, ros bif. This is why you are all alone with no one to love!"

The moment the words had left his mouth, Francis instantly regretted them. With his trousers half-way down his legs, he saw England's shoulders tense. The shorter nation's hands clenched and his whole body shook.

"Arthur, I didn't-"

"Save it, frog. I don't want to hear another word out of your slimy mouth." He walked away. Back straight, never turning to look back at a distraught, half-dressed France which, under other circumstances, England would of found hilarious. Instead, he kept his head high as he walked to the far end of the wardrobe. It was only as he stopped by France's shoe collection did he allow himself to wipe the tears that had been trailing down his cheeks.

Why did France have to be right?

France watched England disappear in between the hangers feeling dreadful. Why had he said it? He hadn't really meant it. It was nothing worse than their usual banter, but England had reacted so badly. It wasn't meant to end up like that. He snapped out of his thought process and struggled to get his trousers off.

"Arthur, please!" He tried to step out of his trousers with one foot, while shaking his leg to get off the other half and fell flat on his face. He groaned loudly before rolling over and ripping the trousers off himself. Never again would he get into clothes which were much too small for him. He defiantly agreed with England. Prussia's plan had sucked. His angrily mutter curses were stopped when he heard the voices.

"I heard noises. They must be in here!"

"Great! We can make up our earlier mistake."

"Hey! Bruno was part of this team. He got them caught in the first place!

"Tell that to Rodrigo. The ignorant pig."

"You have got to be kidding me," France cursed banging his fist on the floor. Scrambling to his feet he ran trouserless towards where England had disappeared earlier. They had to get out of there. He heard them enter the room and start tearing through his clothes in search.

He had to find England.

England heard the crashes almost instantly. His breath caught. They were really close. From his limited Spanish, (how he could of gone through the armada without learning Spanish is just typically British) he knew that these were the same guys from earlier. He also knew that they were mighty pissed.

He clutched at the bag tightly trying to back into a hiding place quietly. His breath came in rugged gasps as his side protested at his now hunched and tensed position. He could not be caught now. Not when he was so close. He scanned the area in front of him looking for any movement. His hands started to shake as adrenaline pumped through his body. A coat moved slightly out of the corner of his eye. The sudden change made England spin around to try and get a better look. His foot caught on a shoe sending him tumbling to the ground. His hand instinctively reached out, grabbing a wad of fabric. The whole rail followed after, crashing down on top of him. Pain exploded in his vision. Black dots dominating his sight made it harder for him to push the jumbled mess off of himself. The guards stopped. Dimly, England heard instructions being barked to each other. They were coming. Forcing himself to concentrate, England got to work on the clothes covering him. He ripped them off, struggling to get out quickly. The shouts grew louder, more vicious. Blood pounded in his ears.

After what felt like a frustrated ten minutes, but could of only have been one, England was able to stand and run. He no longer cared about being quiet. He sprinted down the clothed corridors. His arms and legs burnt in protest. His side felt like it was about to spilt open. He needed a way out. Now. Then he saw it. As he turned the corner he had to shield his eyes as natural light poured in from a full window. With the run up in front of him he could easily crash through it. Running behind told him his time was up. He ran full-pelt. The window came towards him quickly. He was going to fly through it. Nobody could catch him now.

He felt like he was hit by a ton of bricks. He was yanked to one side. His feet tripping over themselves as he fell heavily into a set of broad arms.

"Let me go you wanker!" he screeched, fighting tooth and nail. A large hand clamped over his mouth and the capturer leant in.

"If you don't shut your mouth we will both be caught," the distinctive French accent hissed. England continued to curse into France's hand but a lot more quietly than before. The shock and dear of suddenly being grabbed still lingered, causing an almost Tourette's sensation.

Footsteps finally fell down the corridor as the guards finally caught up. France's grip on England's mouth tightened. From their hiding spot, they saw the two guards walking, weapons in hand. One had a plastered nose and badly cut cheek, while the other winces at the smallest of sounds. Obviously, their fight with the French nation earlier had left them feeling a bit tender.

"Where the fuck did he go?" the one with the broken nose grunted, his nose making every syllable sound Neanderthal.  
>The other winced and slapped the other's arm.<p>

"How the fuck am I meant to know? You're the one that lost him!"

"Lay off! I'm the injured one here!"

"Here we go again. Always with the whining."

"Just shut up, already! He must of ran on. Come on."

The pair waited until they could no longer hear the quarrelling before daring to speak.

"Why did you try to stop me, you wanker," England hissed pushing France away and wiping his lips.

"You were running about like a headless chicken. You would have been caught any minute," Francis replied wiping his hand on his trousers. He was pretty sure the English nation had licked him.

England turned 'round to retort at how stupid France was being, when he caught sight of the blonde's attire.

"Put a shirt on, you hairy chested freak!" A blush of pure scarlet illuminated his cheeks. France had quite a muscular chest. Thin golden hairs grew from it and England had to resist the urge to feel them. Surprised, France glanced down before chortling. He reached up and pulled down a top, rather happy to find his companion's cheeks still stained red.

"It's on now Angleterre~ Are you happy?"

The teasing tones grated heavily on England's already fried nerves. France was therefore not surprised in the slightest to get a curt 'Yes' for his troubles. He grinned happily and changed the subject. Sometimes you had to stop before your luck ran out.

"So just what were you planning that I so rudely interrupted?"

"Escaping," came another sharp reply.

"And how were you planning that? Hoping to convince them you are a chicken?"

"No, they wouldn't be convinced after meeting you," was the scathing reply.

"After meeting in the forest, I highly doubt that."

"I was going to break through the window."

France stopped himself from letting out a large exclamation of disbelief.

"I realise we are nations and all but you aren't in any condition to go jumping out of second story windows!"

"And what," England said quietly, "do you suggest? We can't leave through the front door you know."

France frowned thoughtfully, trying to sort out the possibilities in his head. It was true they couldn't leave via the normal exit. His tunnels had all emerged in his bedroom, something he had found hard to explain to the younger nation accompanying him. Not only this but judging by the noises behind him, those guards were still looking around for them nearby. He looked once more at the window and his frown increased. They could jump out. The only problem was the glass and the impact with the ground. For England, the hole in his side wouldn't help either. If they were going to leave that way they would need protection.

"Here," France said close to England's ear. "We will go out through the window. But first I need to grab something, okay?"

England nodded a smug grin of 'I-was-right' plastered on his face. France once again had to control his tongue as he tried to move as quietly as possible.

England, still grinning, watched France sneak away towards some unknown. He had no idea what the Frenchman was doing but waited impatiently. In his wake, England hugged onto the bag which hadn't left his possession since he snatched it from France. He just wanted to get home at this point. Badly.

Finally, France returned covered in fur. He wore a thick fur coat of a brunette shade. Over his arm was a silvery grey equivalent which he held out to England.

"This should stop us from getting cut too much. The leather of these jackets is very hard to penetrate."

England took the coat feeling its heavy weight and thickness. It was actually a good plan. For once. He threw it on, not failing to feel the soft texture of the fur sweep across his jaw line. He smoothed down the sleeves for no reason than to feel the grey fur slip through his fingers. It was slightly too long and pulled a bit as England tried to move.

"Don't you have a smaller one, old chap? I might find it a bit difficult to pick up the pace in this one."

"Not one in that colour. It really brings out your eyes ros-bif," France replied with a perfectly straight face.

"Why the hell would you want to accentuate my eyes when we are supposed to be escaping?! How am I going to crash through the window when I'm going to trip into it instead?"

France, who was now pacing steps for the run up, turned around on his heel smiling.

"I could carry you."

"Not bloody likely." France started rocking back and forth from the ball of his feet to his toes.

"Suit yourself," he sprinted straight at England who jumped out the way as the Frenchman raced past. Francis hit the ground hard, twisting his body to face England and crashed through the window. A chorus of footsteps and Spanish curses rang through the manor.

Behind him, England could hear the guards from earlier tearing through the racks of clothes. The hole Francis had made was plenty big for England to jump through. He sighed heavily retreating a few steps and muttering vulgarities meant for the nation below. His left hand tightened on the bag he refused to let go of. He started to sprint. A man crashed through the clothes rack straight into England's path but he was crouched over and England jumped over him as though he was little more than a hurdle. The coat caught the guard on his side causing him to lose balance. England turned around to see and his feet tangled on the coat. Just as he had predicted he fell out of the window head-first. The tumble was quickly stopped by a sharp yank. He lost his grip on the bag. The whole of England's body ached with the sudden change of momentum. Looking up he saw the lining was caught on shards of glass still in the window frame. Below him he heard a gasp and could just tell Francis was there watching this whole thing. He groaned loudly for the discomfort he felt and the embarrassment he was going to subjected to later. Looking up once more he wiggled to see if the coat would come loose. The coat didn't move. Sighing, the blond assessed what he could do. He could keep moving until eventually something gave, he could climb back up and try and undo it himself, or he could struggle out of the coat and let himself fall. As he pondered, he felt an upwards tug. They were pulling him up.

Fuck.

With the other two options ruled, out England tried to escape the coat. His arms were pinned upwards. He had to get one arm free. Gravity could take care of the rest. His right hand gript onto some of the taunt fur, now cursing how smooth it was as he tried to pull his weight that way. With the little room, he tried to force his arm to obey him. The tugs above him got stronger and more insistent as they realised what he was doing. He shook his arm hard, bending it and pulling against the leather. Suddenly the arm was free, making him swing around to face the garden. He saw France below him frantically motioning with his arms. Taking a deep breath he let go and fell out of the coat. The two story fall ending in France's arms as he caught him. Not even wasting time to place England down, France turned on his heel and ran.

He didn't stop until they were out of the grounds and deep into the forest. There, desperately out of breath, he placed England down and bent double to catch it. England blinked a few times noticing he wasn't the only thing placed on the floor. He reached over and grabbed the sack.

"You still have your clothes then."

"Of course," the Frenchman gasped still greedily feasting on oxygen, "There was no way I was going to survive without my clothes again." Even though he was out of breath, the words were blunt and cold.

"So, what's the plan now?" England asked leaning against a tree, praying that he had made a mistake, imagined it. He waited for the reply and was almost surprised when one was directed at him. He half expected the other nation to collapse or just plain ignore him.

"We return to Calais and get the first boat back to yours."

"That's a good few hours walk. We'll probably get there at dawn." England muttered grumpily.

"Then we better get moving," France said finally standing straight and taking the bag off of the smaller counterpart. "Allons-y." As he took the bag he refused to look England in the eye. Their hands didn't even touch. Something was wrong. He walked off barely even looking back. Wondering what had suddenly brought on this cold air about him, England followed.

He would find out why. There was no way he was letting that attitude slide without a reason.

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><p><strong>So, yeah... <strong>

**first DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters. :) They all belong to their owner who we all know but my spelling of his name, and laziness to go to google to help me spell it, means you have to deal with the fact that you know who it is and all but I suck at names. :3**

**Second. I am really sorry about how... angsty this is getting/ is going to get. It has to happen at some point :3 This is a war fic after all. **

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><p><strong>TRANSLATIONS:<strong>

**(fudge me I have to find them...)**

**Ja- Yes (German)**

**Angleterre- England (French)**

**Parle-Talk [command] (French)**

**Sacre Bleur- Paint it Blue, Sacred Blue... lets just stick with DAMMIT for this translation (French)**

**mon cher- My dear (French)**

… **Can I give up yet? Most of them are simple ones... I don't think I had the internet connection on my phone to look on translate that much so I just went by my own knowledge. :)**

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><p><strong><span>REVIEWS!<span> (I only got 4 last time *cries* sad times my friends sad times!)**

**KaiyoUchiha**

**There will be a day that I can write your name without having to look and type with one finger ^^". I know, Scotland promised! But admittedly this was a long time before communication was as good as it is now. Just... *shakes head* He should of organised it better. **

**I'm so glad SOMEONE said that! You don't need to apologise for being awesome! Monty Python 3**

**I hope you are pleasantly surprised to see this update too. I'M NOT DEAD LOOK! XD**

**Weiner weenie guy thing (Maiya)**

**Nice name my friend. What happened there then?!**

**I want a Prussia Pinata too. So badly. I wish it were possible. Hehe yep that's what they were meant to be. Strange accusations are fun. Especially between friends. I thank you for liking the chapter once more. **

**I wish you could draw that scene too. It would be hilarious! Maybe I should have a go but I don't think that would work very well. **

**Pithy**

**I am a very evil psychopath who you like? XD Sorry I didn't put much Spain action in. Originally he was going to have a lot more input but it kinda didn't work. There was going to be a whole match scene between France and Spain and be quite the affair but I found their interaction quite hard. I need to work on writing Spain and France. Prussia was quite hard in the first place for me. (I've hardly written Spain without Romano present and even in Contagion he is kinda knocked out of the story pretty quickly). **

**Also sorry for the lack of French and England "action" I have a bit too much fun planned for them later. No way am I going to ruin it now. ;) **

**Hehe I am very happy you like my French! I am normally very worried that it would be very badly fragmented. My French and Spanish suck and I never even learnt German. So I thank you very much for that. :) I hope it was worth the wait.**

**ThexDarkenedXLight**

**Hahaha, you should write blurbs! I almost felt like I was at the end of a 60s Batman episode where it sums it all up in questions. So in no particular order I will answer your questions. No, Kinda, Yes (in a way), Yes. And no those are not in the order you answered the questions. Have fun working them out ;)**

**I'll give you cake! REVIEW PLEASE. Yes I am begging you guys. I need love!**


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